


Uncaged

by Weasleychick32



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Anal Sex, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Claire is a little shit, College Student Sam, Dean Tries, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge, Demisexual Castiel (Supernatural), Domestic Fluff, F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Homeless Castiel, Homeless Krissy, Krissy has to put up with all of them, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Past Castiel/Amelia Novak, Past Rape/Non-con, Rimming, Sam is a Saint, Strangers to Lovers, cas is cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-26 06:17:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 19
Words: 113,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12551028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weasleychick32/pseuds/Weasleychick32
Summary: On the road, Dean has no responsibilities except to his car and his stomach. Baby’s tires hammer across the pavement--singing their freedom--and it’s as familiar to him as the decades-old Rock and Roll mixed tapes blasting through the speakers, and just as loved. The open road is the only place he has ever belonged.Then there’s Castiel. It was never meant to be a permanent thing, this… whatever it is between them. Dean picks him up on impulse--a hitchhiker along the side of the highway. He doesn’t know where he came from, only that like Dean, he doesn’t know where he’s going. So they drive and before long, Castiel becomes Cas, the best friend Dean’s ever had.He didn’t anticipate running into Cas’s long-lost kid along the way... Or maybe, that only opens the door to the best part.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first DCBB and I'm thrilled to be a part of this community! First things first, go find Lostloona on Tumblr and praise her for the FOUR pieces of glorious art embedded in this fic. I am in awe she is so skilled.
> 
> Here's a HUGE thanks to Rosewhipped22 for betaing for me--YOU ROCK! Without you all of my commas would be in, the wrong places ;D
> 
> Lastly, thanks to my sister for listening to me babble on about this fic for the past...I lost track of how many years...and inadvertently telling you the same things over and over and over. I'm sure you deserved it. :)
> 
> For info on the Rape/NonCon tag, check out the first comment on Chapter 19. :)

[](https://imgur.com/2zx4jxO)

The road is a dark stripe cutting through naked trees and scraggly underbrush. Baby’s tires hammer across the pavement--singing their freedom--and it’s as familiar to him as the decades-old Rock and Roll mixed tapes blasting through the speakers, and just as loved. The open road is the only place Dean has ever truly felt he belonged, besides Lawrence anyway. There’s nothing left for him in Lawrence; mom, dad, Sammy--they’re all gone, so he decided that it was time he should be too.

Sammy went off to college so it was just dad and Dean left in the end and then dad died and Dean started driving and didn’t stop. He hasn’t regretted it yet and it’s been over a year now so it must not have been too terrible of a decision. No doubt, if it was, he’d be feeling it by now; Guilt is basically his default setting.

But here on the road? It’s just him and his sleek black ‘67 Chevy Impala, his Baby, and he’s the closest to happy he’s ever been. With no responsibilities except to his stomach and his car, taking whatever job there is to be had when he needs to stop keeps food in his belly and gas in Baby’s tank. A lot of the time he naps in Baby’s backseat, but sometimes he’ll splurge and get a motel room for a whole night. He’s had to cough up the cash for the room more often than not recently with winter in full swing; the nights are colder and Baby needs a break just as much as he does sometimes.

Not tonight though. Tonight Dean feels like he’s been hit by a second wind. He got a room the night before and slept for almost six whole hours. Then when he woke up, he stopped in at a diner down the street and they had fresh peach, apple, and cherry pies sitting and cooling on the counter. Dean bought one of each and two of them are now safely tucked away in the trunk for him to come back to later. The third didn’t survive the morning. It was awesome.

He feels like he could go forever, so he sets his sights on South Carolina (a 10-hour drive from the podunk little town in Pennsylvania that he’s coming from). He won’t arrive until some ungodly hour in the middle of the night, but he doesn’t care. It’ll be warmer in the south anyway.

Two hours later, the sun is just barely above the tree line and Dean is on some winding back road just outside of a small town in Virginia that looks just like all of the other small towns in the states; small and townish. Baby’s good on gas and Dean still has his pie, so he keeps going.

He comes around a long curve in the road and as the view opens up Dean sees a man walking along the side of the road. He’s wearing a long tan trench coat and must have heard Baby rounding the bend because he’s already sticking his thumb out as he walks along, his back to the approaching Impala as he waits for her to pass by.

Dean taps the brakes. Once. Twice. He passes the man and then, what the hell, he pulls over, decision made.

Dean doesn’t make a habit of picking up hitchers, but he has a few times in the past. Sometimes he really regrets it and others he enjoys the company for a few hours before he drops them off wherever they want to be. Dean’s not sure why he stopped this time; it’s not raining or anything although it’s a bit chilly and it’s bound to get colder as the sun disappears and night begins in earnest. What can he say? He’s got a heart of fucking gold.

The man in the coat finally catches up to where Dean is sitting idle on the shoulder and ducks down to peer at Dean through Baby’s window, a thick untrimmed brown beard taking up most of his face. Dean waves his arm for him to hop in and rolls his eyes as he hits the off button on the stereo. It’s not like he’s going to offer twice.

The man pulls open the door to the Impala and slides into the passenger seat, settling a worn black and red backpack between his feet. The sharp scent of B.O. invades the car as the man closes the door behind him, but Dean doesn’t mention it.

A barely there sigh escapes the hitchhiker’s lips as he holds long, bare fingers in front of the heat vent. Dean turns the fan to a higher setting.

“You have a very nice car,” the hitchhiker says, squirming a bit against the leather bench.

Dean grins. He can’t help it. Any compliment bestowed upon Baby goes right to his very soul.

“Yeah she’s pretty sweet, huh?” he agrees, absently running his fingers over the steering wheel.

The man tugs on his seatbelt and then shifts awkwardly again and stares down at his knees. His hands are clenched in his lap now and his elbows are tucked tightly to his sides while he hunches forward like he’s trying not to touch any more of the vehicle than absolutely necessary.

It’s only then that Dean notices how dirty and threadbare that coat of his is. Under the coat, he’s wearing a suit jacket, matching slacks, and a white shirt with a blue tie. The pants are dusty with dirt and frayed along the bottom hem. The collar of the shirt is stained yellow with sweat-whether old or new, Dean can’t determine. The tie has been pulled away from his neck and the knot is crooked making the tie flip backward.

Dean immediately starts to second guess his impulse. Who the hell up and decides to hitchhike in a friggin’  _ suit _ of all things? He’s picked up a crazy one before and had to stop in a town and actually call the cops on the guy after Dean caught a glimpse of a blood-stained knife in his bag. Dean has no idea what happened to the guy, he hightailed it out of town pretty quickly, but he didn’t pick up another hitcher for a very long time after that.

“Where to, man?” Dean asks, pulling Baby back onto the road and hoping that this guy is at least harmless crazy and not psycho killer crazy.

“Anywhere is fine. I’m sure your planned destination will be sufficient,” he says, his voice a rumble just barely lower in pitch than Baby’s roar.

Dean snorts and smirks a bit. The guy has a funny way of talking. The man looks up at the sound and Dean is struck by the clear and pure blue of the man’s eyes that can’t be dimmed by dirt, sweat, and an overgrown beard.

“Unless you had a closer destination in mind when you stopped,” he adds, staring Dean directly in the eyes until Dean is forced to either look away or drive off the road. “In that case, the nearest town will suffice. I understand my presence is less than desirable.”

Dean snorts again and glances away from the road to shoot the man a look.

“Okay  _ Debbie _ ,” Dean says, rolling his eyes. He chances another glance and sees the man squinting across the car at him with his head tilted slightly to the left. It is way too adorable for a grown man to be comfortable doing. Maybe a puppy could get away with it.

“My name isn’t Debbie and I’m not certain what led you to believe it was. I’m Castiel.”

Dean looks over again to see if the guy is joking, but he seems totally serious. Better than serious, he seems earnest. Dean opens his mouth to explain that  _ Debbie _ was just a play on Debbie Downer, but the guy,  _ Castiel _ , holds up a hand to stop him.

“Yes, I am aware that it is an unusual name, but it is mine nonetheless and I have become rather fond of it.”

Dean laughs then and Castiel blinks over at him. His head tilts again. The guy's a weirdo for sure, but maybe not full-on crazy. Hell, Dean’s a weirdo too so who is he to judge?

“Why are you wearing a suit?” Dean asks before he can stop himself. “Isn’t that like a really shitty thing to have to walk in all day?”

Castiel frowns down at his clothes and smooths a hand over his tie, not even bothering to turn it back around.

“I thought it would make me seem more approachable. Most people wouldn’t stop for a grown man, so I thought… maybe I would look less threatening?” he says like it’s a question and he needs Dean’s approval.

“Not gonna lie to you man, it makes you look kinda crazy. I mean, who in their right mind wears a suit if they don’t have to?” 

Castiel frowns at his clothing again and picks at a stray thread popping out of the hem of his suit jacket.

“You may have a point,” he eventually mumbles.

Dean smiles, but Castiel doesn’t see. He’s too busy taking off the tie completely and undoing the top two buttons of his dress shirt.

“That’s better,” Dean encourages. “Now that coat,” he starts. He doesn’t see the way Castiel tenses because his eyes are back on the road. “Only creeps and pedophiles wear trench coats anymore. It’s gotta-,”

“I am not replacing my coat,” Castiel interrupts. His voice is hard and he’s sitting straight in his seat, glaring over at Dean. “If my clothing choices make you uncomfortable you can drop me off here, but I can assure you I am neither a creep nor a pedophile.”

“Woah, okay,” Dean says, eyes a little wide as he looks between the road and his visibly agitated passenger. “It’s no big deal man, alright? I was just saying that if you want to seem approachable the trench is hurting rather than helping.”

“I’m keeping the coat,” Castiel says again, not budging an inch.

“I  _ know _ . And I’m totally cool with that. See this jacket?” Dean asks, holding up his arm so Castiel can clearly see the dark leather jacket he’s wearing. “It’s too big. Gets in the way of my hands and chafes the back of my neck, but I wear it anyway, right? Because it was my dad’s. So it’s not just some coat. It’s… just, I get it, dude. Okay?”

Dean is staring hard out the windshield now, his hands tight on the steering wheel. There’s a long pause where nothing makes a sound expect Baby as she pulls them along down the shadow patterned road. Again, Dean reconsiders his impulse to pick up Castiel. If it’s going to be this awkward for the whole trip, then maybe he should take the out Castiel gave him and drop him at the nearest town.

“Okay,” Castiel finally says, and his voice has lost the hard edge that it had just a minute ago. “I apologize. This coat is… not just some coat either. It holds sentimental value.”

Dean glances over and Castiel is once again hunched in the passenger seat with his head down and his hands folded in his lap. Dean sighs silently, forces his muscles to relax, and tries to coax himself back into the jovial mood he’d been in before he started word vomiting all over the place about his dad.

“It’s whatever man,” Dean tells him and somehow his voice comes out casual. He sees Castiel nod out of the corner of his eye, but otherwise he stays as he is. Dean frowns.

“If we’re doing this you’re gonna need to relax dude. Settle in. We’ve got a long drive.” And just like that Dean is back to taking this guy on the long haul, all the way to South Carolina. No pit stops to dump off the crazy dude in some dusty little town.

“You have a very nice car,” Castiel repeats. “I don’t wish to… My clothes have not been cleaned in a few days and I…” Castiel trails off with a shrug and turns to watch the trees zip by.

Dean smiles. He can’t help it. This guy that has probably been walking all day is sitting in a way that must be uncomfortable, all because he’s worried about Baby and keeping her in mint condition. If there’s a sure fire way to get into Dean’s good graces, it’s without a doubt through being nice to his car.

“Don’t worry about it. She’s seen worse than a little dirt and sweat. Hell, I’ve driven her dirtier and sweatier than you are now and she came back from it just fine. She ain’t no fragile little… eggshell or whatever. Lean back. Get comfy.”

Dean can feel Castiel’s steady gaze on the side of his face, but he doesn’t turn to meet it. After several seconds the gaze falls away and Castiel leans back into the seat with a muffled sigh and stretches his legs in front of him. Dean suppresses a smirk.

“Okay man, so here’s the deal,” Dean starts, getting down to business. Castiel straightens his shoulders but stares out the windshield instead of looking at Dean.

“I don’t really have any place in mind to get to, so how about we just play this by ear. For tonight the goal in mind is South Carolina, but tomorrow it could be Montana, who knows? So you see somewhere you might like to be left off, you just say so and I’ll drop you there. Otherwise, we just keep going.”

Dean has no idea why he just proposed such a thing to this guy he’s just met. Judging by the look on Castiel’s face, he doesn’t quite know what to make of it either.

“What if you grow tired of me being here?” Castiel asks, all confusion and squinty eyes and earnest features.

Dean just shrugs.

“Then we’ll figure it out if it comes down to that. Honestly, I’m not too worried about it.”

Castiel is silent after that, just staring at Dean like he’s never seen another human before. Dean drums his fingers on the steering wheel a bit, waiting for him to stop. He doesn’t.

“Do you do this often?” Castiel finally asks.

“Nope,” Dean says and then asks if Castiel minds if he turns the music back on. He says he doesn’t and thankfully lets the subject drop.

Dean drives through most of the night before he finally crosses the South Carolina border and deems himself too tired to continue. There’s a dirt road about a mile in that Dean turns on and drives down a little ways before parking off to the side in the grass under some trees.

“What are we doing?” Castiel asks.

He’s been quiet for most of the trip, only responding briefly to Dean’s minor music preference interrogation (and frankly, his answers were really fucking disappointing).

“I need sleep man,” Dean grumbles, biting off a yawn as he shifts the Impala into park and removes the key from the ignition to toss in the center console.

“Do you… Do you wish for me to drive?”

Dean stares at him like he’s lost his mind.

“Dude, just because you haven’t killed me yet doesn’t mean I’m gonna trust you with Baby. Speaking of, try not to stab me in my sleep or anything, alright?”

Castiel’s confused and slightly worried expression quickly morphs into a flat unamused stare.

“I shall endeavor to resist any primitive, bloodthirsty urges that may creep upon me in the night.”

Dean laughs. “I appreciate it. You want front or back?”

“Excuse me?”

Dean rolls his eyes.

“Do you want the front or the back seat to sleep on? Or were you just planning on sitting there all night and waiting for me to wake up?”

“Oh,” Castiel shifts his gaze to the floor. “I hadn’t thought about it I suppose.” He looks back at Dean. “I’m indifferent. You may pick whichever location you prefer.”

“Awesome. Dibs on the back then.”

That being decided, Dean promptly rolls over the back of the front bench and sprawls out as much as a 6’+ man can across the backseat. He closes his eyes and sighs in contentment, breathing in the familiar and soothing scents of leather, old french fries, and the less familiar smell of Castiel in the front seat.

“We’ll get some shut eye and then go some more in the morning. Sound good?”

“Yes, that sounds… good.”

“Awesome. Night, Cas,” Dean adds, almost as an afterthought as sleep sweeps in and starts tugging him away from reality.

“Goodnight…”

It takes an embarrassingly long couple of seconds, but Dean eventually realizes his mistake.

“Oh. Shit sorry. Dean. My name’s Dean.”

“Goodnight, Dean.”

Dean smiles and sleep takes him under.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

The next morning, Dean blinks and simply lies curled up in the backseat of the Impala for several minutes. It was the sun that woke him, he thinks. It’s well on its way into the sky by now and the birds are singing and probably shitting all over his car. He’ll have to stop and give her a good wash next chance he gets. Maybe after breakfast.

There’s a niggling feeling in the back of his sleep-fogged mind, but he knows if he wakes up too much he won't be able to ignore his bladder’s current state and he’ll be forced to get out of the somewhat warm car and venture into the chilly morning air to find a tree.

To be honest, he’s not even comfortable really. His legs are stiff, his back and neck ache, and he’s cold all over. A lesser man might admit that he’s getting too old to still be sleeping in the back of his car, but he’s Dean Winchester and he’s more than used to ignoring inconvenient truths.

Vaguely he wonders how Castiel faired…

He bolts up to a sitting position when the thought registers, just barely not crowning himself in the process. The front seat is empty, but he can see Castiel almost immediately through the windshield sitting at the base of a tree staring serenely up at the sky. Dean shakes his head and pops open the door because, just like he’d known, he really,  _ really _ needs to piss.

He staggers out of the car, his legs weak and protesting their mistreatment and Castiel only drags his gaze over to Dean when he slams the car door closed.

“Good morning, Dean. Did you sleep well?”

Dean squints at him and then scrapes some crust out of his eyes with his index finger.

“Pee,” he mumbles and then stumbles away to a more private tree.

He zips himself up when he’s done and rests his forehead against the rough bark and wills away the last clinging dregs of sleep from his system. When he feels a bit less zombie-esque he straightens and meanders back to where Castiel is still sitting on the ground.

Instead of joining him, Dean hops up on Baby’s hood and, ignoring the way the cold from the metal seeps through his jeans, slaps the spot next to him. Castiel raises his eyebrows a bit, but stands and dusts himself off before gingerly climbing up to claim the spot.

“You hungry?” Dean asks after a brief silence.

Castiel pauses as though he needs to carefully contemplate the question before responding, but Dean doesn’t stick around for the answer. He jumps off the Impala and holds up his index finger to Castiel as he moves around to the trunk.

Dean pops the trunk and pulls out a box. He peers through the thin film window in the top and grins. He’s feeling peach this morning. He scoops up a couple plastic forks to accompany his pie and takes them with him back to his perch.

“You like peach pie? If not I’ve got apple too,” Dean says, wiggling the box a bit under Castiel’s nose as he reclaims his spot on the hood. Castiel blinks and frowns, a line creasing the space between his brows.

“Pie for breakfast?”

“Yeah, why not?” Dean asks, already pulling back the lid of the box and inhaling deeply. “There’s no rules out here on the road.”

“On the contrary, there are a great many rules of the road; such as the speed limit, which I couldn’t help but notice you seem to disregard. Furthermore, there is what not to do at a stop light and-,”

“Was that a SpongeBob reference?” Dean pauses with his heavy forkful halfway to his mouth to ask.

“What?”

Dean rolls his eyes and stuffs his fork into his mouth. He’s rendered momentarily speechless as the sweet doughy awesomeness that is  _ pie _ coats his tongue. He swallows and his voice returns, as always.

“Never mind. Anyway, why  _ not _ pie for breakfast? People eat donuts and turnovers and shit. Why not pie?”

“I suppose you have a point,” Castiel concedes. He hesitates, but accepts the plastic fork Dean offers and scoops himself out a bite of pie, just as heedless of slices and edges as Dean, and eats it.

“Mmmm. This is good,” Castiel says, immediately going in for more.

Dean beams at him, stabs a peach slice and points his fork at Castiel.

“Castiel, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

Castiel raises his eyebrows and swallows before speaking.

“Really?” he asks, tone dry.

“Yeah really,” Dean replies, somewhat offended and spewing crust crumbs. “Why not?”

Castiel regards him heavily for several moments before smiling, just the frailest upturn of his lips.

“You are a strange man, but alright. Why not,” he echoes.

Dean snorts so hard his fork almost comes out his nose.

“ _ I’m _ strange? Dude, you are like the... the  _ epitome _ of strange.”

“Epitome. Clever word choice.”

“Thank you,” Dean says with a grin and another bite of pie.

They eat the entire pie there on the hood of the Impala with a backdrop of surprisingly easy banter, singing birds, and the sun as it continues its climb into the sky.

[](https://imgur.com/3tCEMpa)

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

It was never meant to be a permanent thing, this… whatever, between Dean and Castiel. They drive and drive and they pass several towns and a few cities, but Castiel never asks to be let out so Dean keeps going. Through South Carolina, on to Tennessee and Missouri, Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico. They drive.

A few stops are required; food, sleep, gas, potty breaks. They stay in a town in Missouri for a week to work a construction job under the table. Castiel is surprisingly good with his hands much to Dean’s delight. It’s nice, he decides, to have a second set of hands to help earn some cash.

That being said, Castiel is  _ terrible _ at hustling pool. After the first disastrous attempt, Dean opts to leave him back at the motel or the car for all future attempts.

They get paid and the first thing they do is go to Walmart to get Castiel some ‘normal people clothes’, as Dean calls them. Castiel changes into them in the gas station bathroom while Dean fuels up Baby and checks her oil. Castiel emerges wearing a plain blue t-shirt that came out of a bag of similar monochromatic shirts, a red zip-up hoodie, and jeans. He stuffs his suit in the trash and they leave. The trench coat goes in the trunk for the time being.

They continue to drive and work and sleep and eat so long as they keep moving. And… It’s good, Dean admits, only to himself in the privacy of his own head. It’s really not much different from what he was doing before. Sure there’s another mouth to feed, but there’s also another body to work and… well, it’s a helluva lot less lonely.

Not that Dean even realized he was lonely before. Not until he wasn’t anymore. Of course, it’s not always the apple pie life. They argue and piss each other off.

Castiel complains about Dean speeding unnecessarily. Dean bitches that Castiel’s feet stink up the whole car for days when he slips off his shoes. Sometimes the music’s too loud and Castiel just needs some peace and quiet for  _ ‘five fucking minutes, Dean’. _ Sometimes Dean needs nothing more than to go out to the bar and drink himself stupid. And sometimes, Castiel sits quietly in the passenger seat for hours on end, wrapped up in his old trench coat no matter how high Dean has the heat turned up, eyes distant to the point that Dean feels alone in the small space.

But Castiel doesn’t leave and he never talks about leaving so Dean doesn’t ask and before long Castiel becomes  _ Cas _ and the best friend Dean’s ever had.

[](https://imgur.com/TJEaBfH)


	2. Chapter Two

“Dammit, Cas!”

Dean limps away from Baby and the jack stand he just stubbed his toe on and drops onto his ass in the dirt to peel off his boot and survey the damage to his driving foot.

“Apologies,” Cas mutters, scurrying to collect the stray stand and return it to the trunk where it belongs.

It’s April in Colorado and what better way to kick off the fresh season than with a flat tire in the middle of a mountain pass. Of course, Dean couldn’t  _ not _ take the time to teach Cas how to change the tire once he found out that Cas didn’t know how. What grown-ass man doesn’t know how to change a tire?

“Well, that went astronomically better than my last attempt,” Cas says, closing the trunk and dusting his hands on his jeans.

Dean would never tell him, but he looks damn good in a t-shirt and jeans. Way better than he did in that old suit anyway. Although, maybe if he had one that was clean and actually fit correctly…

Dean skewers a look at Cas and yanks his boot back on. His toe is fine.

“We had to run after the spare after you dropped it and it rolled down the mountain,” Dean reminds him, just in case he forgot the hour-long excursion.

“Well… Yes, but we still fared much better than my first attempt.”

“I’m afraid to ask,” Dean says, a slow smile stretching his lips, making him look all too eager to hear the whole embarrassing spiel.

Cas sighs and lowers himself to sit beside Dean. They managed to get the Impala over onto the runaway truck lane, so they don’t run much risk of being squished on the side of the road while they have sharing and caring time.

“Well, first of all, my parents never saw fit to teach me anything practical,” Castiel begins.

“Right. Rich, bigoted assholes who only had time for their bank account and Jesus. Carry on.”

Cas pulls a face but doesn’t disagree.

“So of course, I had no idea what I was doing. I didn’t loosen the lug nuts before jacking the car off the ground so they were almost impossible to remove.”

Dean hums and nods in understanding. Castiel sighs and stares down at his hands in his lap.

“And… I placed the jack under the floorboards rather than the frame,” Cas admits in a rush without looking up.

Dean lets out a surprised laugh. “Oh God,” he crows, delighted.

“Yes,” Castiel agrees, finally looking up to face Dean’s gleeful features. “Of course, it was an old car and trying to loosen those awful lug nuts made the car move back and forth and then the whole car came crashing to the ground when the jack went through the floor of it.”

Dean throws his head back and laughs and laughs and laughs. Castiel tries to glare at him, but he smiles.

“Yes, yes it’s all very humorous now, but at the time my wife was furious. It had been her very first car…”

Dean isn’t laughing now.

“You were  _ married? _ ” Dean squawks.

Really it shouldn’t be too hard to believe. Cas is a good looking guy. A bit weird. Okay, pretty friggin’ weird, but chicks dig that crap. The thing is, Dean has been hauling Cas around from state to state for two months now and this is the first he’s heard of an ex-wife and Dean kind of got the feeling that Cas had always been just as unattached to anything as Dean is.

Castiel’s expression is shuttered and Dean half expects him to change the subject and insist they leave. Instead, Cas sighs and purses his lips.

“Technically, I’m still married.”

The news hits Dean like a bombshell. He leans away from Cas and puts his weight back on his palms and just stares for a minute, jaw gaping open, the whole nine yards.

“ _ What? _ ” Dean asks, and suddenly anger is there, rapidly washing away the shock and disbelief. He leans forward and glares into Castiel’s face.

“Are you fucking kidding me? What the hell are you doing out here with me then, man?” he demands, shoving Cas’s shoulder when he looks down, away from Dean. “You just what? Got the itch for an adventure and took off for parts unknown? Thought you’d have a grand ole time if you could just get away from the old ball and chain? Dude, that is _fucked._ _Up_.”

“ _ She _ left  _ me _ , Dean,” Castiel admits quietly to his hands in his lap.

Dean freezes and his premature anger leaks away, only leaving guilt in its place. He closes his eyes and grinds his teeth.

“Oh.  _ Shit _ . Sorry, man. I just… I thought…” Dean trails off and drags a hand through his hair, mentally kicking himself over and over and over. He’s such an asshole.

“She just left. In the middle of the night. She was gone. No note, nothing. The only way I knew nothing nefarious was involved was because she packed some of her things. I just woke up the next morning and… I was alone.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say. Cas is still looking down at his lap like the big school bully just gave him a swirly in front of the hottest girl in school and Dean can’t help but think that he’s at least part of the reason he looks that way.

“Shit. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… Fuck, Cas, that  _ sucks _ .”

“You are not at fault, Dean.”

“Well, I kinda am for just ripping into you like that. And you’re like the victim here so that was the shittiest thing I could’ve done.”

“You didn’t know.”

“Well, I could have  _ asked _ for one thing.”

Cas smiles a bit at that and finally lifts his head to look at Dean.

“Yes, I suppose you could have.”

Dean snorts and gets to his feet, swatting dirt off his backside.

“Well, now that we’ve established that I’m a shitty friend-,”

“You are not-,”

“I say we get us some burgers and milkshakes to celebrate a tire well changed.”

Cas frowns at Dean, but Dean just winks at him and climbs into the Impala, knowing that Cas has no choice but to follow.

“You’re not a shitty friend, Dean,” Cas says before he’s even fully in the car.

Dean keeps his opinion on that to himself and drives. Within an hour they’re still in the Impala but they’ve each got a burger in their hands and a milkshake to wash it down with; chocolate for Dean and strawberry for Cas.

“Mmmm ‘s a good burger,” Dean says through a full mouth.

Castiel nods, but is only picking at his, despite cheeseburgers being his very favorite food. Dean frowns and swallows his food thickly.

“What’s up?” he asks, even though he’s pretty sure he knows exactly ‘what’s up’.

Cas sets aside his half-eaten burger and carefully rewraps it. Only once it’s neatly wrapped and returned to the brown paper bag does he speak, if only to the windshield.

“I also have a daughter,” he admits softly.

Dean stops mid-chew and puts down his burger, fixated on Cas.

“My… wife. Amelia. She took her the night she left. Our marriage had been rather unstable. I’d brought up the possibility of divorce. Then two days later, I woke up and the house was empty and Amelia was gone and her things were missing; from the closet, the bathroom, the nightstand. And Claire was gone too. And I…”

Cas looks up to the roof for a long stretch, his eyes not seeing the fabric inches above him. He eventually sighs and closes his eyes altogether.

“I looked,” he continues, his voice rough. “I looked everywhere. I involved the police and started an investigation.  _ Amelia _ I would have let go. I would not make her stay against her will. But Claire… Claire is my  _ daughter _ and I…” He takes a deep shuddering breath and clears his throat. “I miss her.”

“How long?” Dean asks and then wishes he could kick himself without being obvious. This is where he’s supposed to be sympathetic or supportive or whatever. Jesus, he sucks at this.

“Seven years.”

“Seven ye-? Holy shit,” Dean says.

Cas just nods tiredly.

“She was eight. She’ll turn 15 in June.”

“Fuck, Cas. That’s… that sucks.”

The words are completely inadequate. They don’t sum up near enough. They don’t make Cas lift the corner of his lips and smile. They fall flat, but they’re all Dean’s got because it  _ does _ suck. A bubble of hatred wells up in Dean’s chest for this Amelia chick. Where does she think she gets off basically kidnapping Cas’s kid just ‘cause she’s afraid her marriage is falling apart? So now Cas is stuck still  _ married _ to the bitch and childless to boot. It does suck.

“It’s fine, Dean.”

“It’s really not, Cas. That is just  _ the _ shittiest thing,” Dean argues, shaking his head. “Like, I knew you’d have some baggage. You don’t just pick someone up off the side of the road who doesn’t have baggage. But that’s  _ heavy _ man.”

Cas says nothing and stares down at a worn patch on his knee where the denim is about to fray. Dean chews his lip. He doesn’t know what to say so he finishes his burger even though he’s not really all that hungry anymore. Cas sits and stares and doesn’t really see and Dean lets him. Eventually, he clears his throat.

“So you wanna get a motel or something?” Dean asks. He rubs his hands along the curve of the steering wheel but doesn’t start the car.

Cas shakes his head.

“Can we just drive? I feel better when we drive.”

“Sure,” Dean agrees easily and turns the key to crank the engine. It catches and he backs out of the parking lot they’ve been lurking in. “I’ll let you know when I need a nap and then you can take over.”

Cas turns to stare at Dean with wide eyes.

“You’d let me drive the Impala?”

“Yeah, why not,” Dean says with a practiced nonchalant shrug. “You’re a big boy. I trust you.”

Cas doesn’t say anything after that and after a few minutes of nothing but ACDC Dean chances a glance over. Cas is staring out the passenger window as street lamps and headlights flash by, but his head isn’t turned quite far enough to hide the smile adorning his lips. Dean smirks. Mission accomplished.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

Sometime near two in the morning Dean glances over and sees that Cas is asleep. His head is lolling back causing his neck to bend at a frankly alarming angle. Dean grimaces but doesn’t wake him. Partly, because Cas really needs the sleep, and partly because Dean likes it when Cas sleeps.

He likes how sometimes he looks entirely childlike and peaceful and how other times he frowns and goes all serious. Dean likes how when Cas is deeply asleep he’s a solid immovable lump. There is no waking him or moving him and you’d better hope like hell you don’t have somewhere to be because he’s as good as dead. But sometimes Cas’s eyes flicker under their coverings and his lips twitch and nonsense sounds tumble clumsily out. Dean likes that too.

But mostly he just likes Cas’s deep and even breathing. It’s… calming. A steady unfailing rhythm to lull Dean into a rare sense of peace and safety. Dean fell into it by accident the first time it happened towards the beginning of their… friendship or whatever. He had the music off, unsure of how light a sleeper Cas was, and between one blink and the next he found himself completely in sync with Castiel’s breathing and discovered that it’s relaxing as hell.

Cas has since told him to listen to the music as much as Dean wants because he could sleep through the apocalypse so a little rock and roll should hardly bother him, but Dean keeps it off anyway. At least while Cas is asleep.

Tonight Cas sleeps like he’s dead. His mouth is loose and gaping and his expression is clear. It’s a deep peaceful sleep that, even though Dean is fucking exhausted, he doesn’t want to wake him from.

Dean finds himself watching Cas tonight. He doesn’t usually ‘cause it’s  _ weird _ . Dean can’t tell you how many times he’s woken up to Cas just staring at him, but tonight it’s Dean doing the watching.

The highway they randomly chose is taking them through a small city and the street lights cast a dull yellow light over Cas’s face each time they pass under one. A strange emotion wells up in Dean’s chest as he glances again at the man in his passenger seat. He has no idea what to call it. He watches as another yellow bar of light flits across Cas and then fades back to black and another and another as he continues to drive. The emotion only grows.

The stoplight ahead changes to red and Dean pulls the Impala to a stop before turning his full attention to Cas. He can’t puzzle out what’s growing inside him.

It’s fondness and a kind of... nostalgia maybe? Like that feeling you get when you’re outside filling up at a gas station on a windy summer night and it takes you back to some road trip you took, be it with family or friends or whoever. That happy look back at good times. Something like that anyway.

But hell if Dean knows what that nostalgia is for. How can he be missing something that’s right  _ here _ for God’s sake?

The red glow illuminating Cas’s face switches abruptly to green and Dean moves his attention back to transporting them safely through town. He puts the weird feeling out of his mind. It’s really not all that important and what good has dwelling on that kind of thing ever done for anyone anyway? The long and short of it is that Cas is his best friend. The best friend he’s ever had. Anything else is just extraneous detail, so Dean lets it go.

An hour and a half later Dean pulls over in an empty Arby’s parking lot a few towns down the highway. He puts the Impala in park and then uses both hands to rub at his gritty eyes.

“Cas, man wake up,” Dean says and gives Cas’s shoulder a hard shake.

Cas starts with a loud snort and blinks his eyes open in his usual I-just-woke-up-and-have-no-idea-what’s-happening-in-the-world-what-year-is-it haze of confusion. Dean’s lucky that he went into his shifty eye mode about 20 minutes ago or else he’d never be able to get him awake, let alone able to drive.

“Hmph?” Cas grumbles.

“I need a break. You wanna drive or should we find somewhere to kick back for a few hours? I got you a coffee.”

Cas blinks his big blue eyes up at Dean for a long minute and judging from his blank and vaguely irritated expression Dean’s words are taking their sweet time sinking in. Dean shifts under Cas’s stare, but it doesn’t really bother him anymore. The guy just likes to stare. He doesn’t seem to need to blink as much as most people and he doesn’t see any need to hide his gaze.

Besides, Dean can’t really complain when it’s such a pretty one and when coupled with Cas’s messy black hair, sticking up every which way, and how he looks completely lost… Well, Dean can’t help the faint stirrings of attraction, despite reminding himself that Cas’s lips are chapped and the inside of his mouth is probably all dry and more than likely tastes nasty from all that open-mouthed sleeping. He squashes it away.

_ Friends don’t have casual sex with friends _ , Sam’s voice in his head reminds him for the umpteenth time this week, not that he’s even talked to Sam since Christmas. He should probably do that, but he really doesn’t want to have to answer any questions about Cas. He’s not ashamed of him or anything, but Sam wouldn’t understand. He’d just hear ‘Oh hey, yeah, I found this guy on the side of the road and now we’re besties and I really want to have sex with him, but I don’t want things to get weird.’ And yeah. That would be hell to explain. Besides, Sammy’s busy training to be a fancy hot shot lawyer. He doesn’t need to deal with Dean’s problems.

And, boy, does Dean have problems. That’s not even getting started on the bombshell Cas dropped today. Finding out that Cas is technically a married man with a kid out there somewhere should probably matter, but it doesn’t to Dean. All that matters to Dean is that he doesn’t screw this up like he has everything else. He  _ likes _ having Cas as his friend. He doesn’t want to lose that for a night in Baby’s backseat, so if that means ignoring any sexual urges Dean may or may not have in regards to Cas, then fine. He can handle it.

Although, this would probably be a lot easier to do if he’d stop at the bar and pick someone up and get rid of the urge altogether. He squashes that voice again like he has been for weeks. He’s not at all ready to examine why he doesn't listen.

“You really want me to drive?” Cas finally speaks, his voice rough and deeper than usual from sleep. It draws Dean right back in with his sleepy eyes, bedhead, and fresh from the sheets morning voice. Dean thinks it’s his favorite version of Cas.

“Yeah, man. I’m wiped.” 

“And you want me to drive,” Cas repeats, eyebrows raised.

“Uh, yeah. What’s the big deal?” Dean asks and then yawns, his jaw cracking.  _ God _ , he’s tired.

“What if I’m a bad driver? You’ve never seen me drive before.”

Cas has a point, but Dean’s a stubborn bastard.

“Then I’ll tell you to pull the fuck over. No biggie. ‘Sides, I’m pretty sure you drive just like you do everything else; all intent and with that constipated expression. I bet you’re one of those people who doesn’t listen to the radio and keeps the needle right on the speed limit.”

Cas thins his lips and his eyes narrow a smidge, but he doesn’t argue. Dean grins.

“If you don’t wanna drive, it’s whatever. I’m not gonna make you. But if you do, then let’s do it.”

Cas hesitates and studies Dean.

“Alright,” he finally agrees.

Dean smiles and five minutes later Cas is in the driver seat and Dean was so fucking right.

Cas adjusts the seat forward, back, forward, back, forward, back... until it’s absolutely perfect. And then one more time just for fun as far as Dean can tell because it looks like it’s right back in the same exact fucking spot. Then he adjusts all the mirrors. The rearview first and then the driver side and then has Dean adjust the passenger side using the little toggle stick and good  _ God _ , Dean experiences some major regrets.

Finally,  _ finally, _ Cas moves the car into drive and glances up into the rearview and has to give it one last tweak before pulling out of the parking space. He’s sitting up so straight that he’s not even touching the back of the seat and he constantly checks all of his mirrors and  _ fuck _ but it’s exhausting just to watch him drive.  Not to mention a total turn on. Dean settles back against the passenger door and watches.

“You should lock that,” Cas says without even glancing over. Dean rolls his eyes, but turns around and locks the door before getting comfortable again. He didn’t think Cas had any attention left to pay to him what with the obsessive mirror checking, but he should have known better.

They leave the town with the warm glow of streetlights and it’s faceless residents sleeping peacefully inside cozy houses and instead, take on the empty highway with the steady rumble of the Impala beneath their feet and the flickering moonlight through the trees. The white noise, tires spinning on asphalt and Cas’s breathing, fills the space behind Dean’s eyes and Dean gradually drifts to sleep with the image of Cas behind the wheel of the Impala burned across his retinas.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

Construction jobs are Dean’s favorite. As spring sinks its teeth in and the weather turns warmer they become more and more plentiful and the warmer the weather gets the more Cas sweats and the less clothing he seems to require. Especially when they work construction.

Right now they’re helping to replace the shingles on some fancy apartment buildings. The lady in charge was short a couple hands after one guy broke his ankle playing roller hockey and the other quit to go back to school and get his Bachelor’s in Marine Biology. They’re in Oklahoma so Dean doesn’t know what the hell the guy thinks he’s gonna do with it, but more power to him and all that.

Anyhow, it worked out for Dean and Cas. Especially for Dean.

The high for the day is an unseasonal 87 and it’s just past 2 pm. Cas takes off his shirt. Course, Dean’s seen him shirtless plenty on a day to day basis. They’ve gotta change clothes sometime and when you’re parked on the side of the road there aren’t exactly changing rooms, but it’s always just briefly. Less than a minute of exposure.

It’s been 15 minutes of shirt-free Castiel and Dean is mildly concerned that he’s going to fall off the roof if he doesn’t get a grip. All those times before, Cas was never coated in sweat and constantly bent over pounding nails into shingles.

Cas straightens and stretches his arms above his head to get the kinks out of his back and Dean drops his hammer, his heart fluttering out of control. Cas’s muscles ripple and move under his glistening skin and Dean tracks a sweat droplet that runs down the small of Cas’s back through a small patch of dark hair and into the waistband of his jeans.

Cas turns and  _ shit _ he’s looking at Dean. Dean scoops up his hammer and unsticks his tongue from the roof of his tacky mouth.

“Are you alright, Dean?” he asks with a concerned tilt of his head. “You seem flushed. Have you been drinking enough water?”

“Uhh. I’m, umm,” Dean trails off as Cas runs a hand through his hair and the sweat keeps it sticking up all over the place in his hand’s stead. Cas frowns and focuses his brilliant blue eyes more closely on Dean and it’s all Dean can do to keep from walking over to him and  _ licking _ the sweat off his chest and his shoulders and neck and-

“I’m getting you out of the sun. I think you’re getting overheated.”

Dean blinks several times to focus and before he can stop him Cas has his hand on Dean’s forearm and is helping him to his feet. Cas’s hand is  _ warm _ . And hell, Dean’s legs feel like they’re made of goo.

“Have you been drinking  _ any _ water?” Cas tsks as he walks Dean over to the ladder. Dean swallows thickly and looks down the steep incline.

“I drank a little,” he tells Cas. He keeps to himself that he completely forgot his water bottle in the Impala and was too lazy to climb back down and get it. All the water he’s drunk has been filched from Cas’s bottle. Maybe he  _ is _ overheated. That would certainly explain some things, the least of which being his headache and sore back.

Dean carefully makes his way down the ladder, his legs a lot shakier than he’d like when two stories off the ground. He breathes a sigh of relief when he gets to the grass at the bottom and then promptly trips over the curb.

He goes down hard, barely managing to catch himself with his hands. He hisses in a sharp breath and gingerly gets to his feet.

“Dean! Are you alright?” Cas jumps the last few feet off the ladder and rushes over, immediately grabbing Dean’s hands to examine them carefully before Dean even gets the chance to do it himself.

Cas clicks his tongue against his teeth as he checks over the gravel embedded palms and suddenly Dean is acutely aware that Cas is standing completely in his space, is holding one of his hands in each of his own, and is shirtless and sweaty. Cas leans in closer to examine Dean’s left hand, the one that seems to have taken most of his weight in the fall, and his hair tickles Dean’s jaw.

Dean tugs his hands back and steps away, leaving Cas standing there looking surprised and concerned, the asshole.

“I’m fine,” Dean says. Cas lifts an eyebrow.

“Well, mostly,” Dean amends. “I think I need to sit.”

Cas, to his credit, stops babying him and gives him an I-told-you-so look and leads the way to the Impala. He pops open the passenger side door and then pauses before reaching into the car and grabbing something. He comes back out holding Dean’s water bottle and staring at Dean, clearly demanding an explanation without uttering a word.

Dean grins a little and shrugs. “Oops.”

Cas closes his eyes and exhales long and slow before opening his eyes and handing Dean the water.

“Thanks man. Boy, am I thirsty!” Dean says as he struggles to crack the seal and get the thing open with slightly bloody and shaking hands. Cas takes it from him and turns the cap with a sharp twist before handing it back. Dean smiles prettily and opens it the rest of the way and takes a drink. He immediately spits it back out, splattering wet blots over hot concrete. It dribbles over his chin, so he uses his sweaty forearm to wipe it away.

“It’s hot,” he explains to Cas who is staring down at the wet patch of cement in front of Dean.

Cas sighs heavily and turns, walking away without a backward glance. Dean considers staying behind and sitting in the Impala to wait, but then a waft of sweltering hot air rolls out of the stationary car and he decides against it. He shuts the door and follows Cas, dumping the inedible water over his injured hands as he goes. It cleans out most of the bits of parking lot and he figures that’s good enough for now and tosses the empty bottle into a nearby trash bin.

Cas leads him to the water barrel supplied by the company they’re here with. He grabs a styrofoam cup and fills it under the nozzle before handing it to Dean.

“Drink,” he orders.

Dean pulls a face just to be a little shit but does as he’s told. The water is gloriously cool so he chugs down the whole thing. By the time he’s done Cas is handing him another.

“Go sit in the shade,” Cas tells him.

Dean mimics him silently as he makes his way over to a shady spot against the brick apartment building they’ve been working on all day. He lowers himself down into the grass and exhales gratefully. Maybe Cas has a point. He drinks his second cup more slowly than the first. Just as he’s draining the last drop Cas appears like magic with a third.

“I’ve informed Leslie that you’ll be taking a break until you recover. I’ve also told her just what I think of styrofoam and how short-sighted it is to be so frivolously poisoning the earth with a substance that is unable to be recycled and is incapable of decomposition.”

Dean grins at Cas. Of course he did. Cas frowns.

“Why are you smiling at me like that? It’s very important to take care of our environment, Dean. Humans are the only species that not only do not take care of their own habitat but actively destroy it. Earth is all we have so we should be-,”

“Yeah, yeah. We gotta make sure our children and our children’s children got a place to live. I’ve heard the spiel. You know, you and Sammy could probably found your own environment group. Call it  _ Freaks Speak _ ,” Dean suggests, immensely proud of that small scrap of wit.

“Maybe we will, provided Sam and I meet someday,” Cas says with a sniff. It sends a stab of guilt into Dean. He hasn’t talked to Sam in months. He still hasn’t found the guts to tell him about Cas. “What I don’t understand is why people need to validate the necessity of preserving the earth by making it personal with future generations. We should be protecting our environment simply because it’s the right thing to do. Regardless of our hypothetical descendants needing it to survive.”

Dean smiles over at Cas. He must zone out a bit again because Cas asks, “What?” Dean shakes his head.

“Nothin’. Just, of course you would think like that.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Cas asks, his face hardening as though in preparation to defend himself.

“Calm down. It’s just that us regular humans need it to be personal in order to actually get off our asses and do something about it. You’re too good for the rest of us,” Dean explains, still with a weird fond look on his face.

Cas just frowns at him.

“I am no better a person than anyone else. I have my flaws. I’m as human as anyone.”

Dean snorts.

“Yeah, okay. You sure you’re human? You could be, I dunno, an alien? Or, huh... Oh, I know. A guardian angel. Mine specifically, probably,” Dean tells him, a pleased smirk lighting his lips.

Cas regards him with a raised eyebrow for a long minute.

“Stay out of the sun,” he advises and gets to his feet and starts walking away.

“Bossy!” Dean yells after him.

“Drink your  _ fucking _ water!” Cas calls back without turning.

Dean smiles and drinks his fucking water.

[](https://imgur.com/Me4Z7lK)

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

Dean can’t bring himself to so much as look at Cas for the rest of the day once he’s feeling more in his right mind. He’s noticed the guy is attractive before but whatever that was earlier was just ridiculous. He was  _ incapacitated _ by Cas’s sexy bod— 

No. It was the sun talking. Dean was dehydrated and overheated and that’s why he was like that. That’s all. Really.

Now, they’re trying to find a motel with an open room as the sun gets lower and lower since they didn’t have time to do that before they started work. Metallica is cranked high enough to render conversation impossible and both of them are sweaty, exhausted, and starving. Finally, Dean spots a motel sign and points it out to Cas who insisted on driving even though Dean hasn’t felt the least bit woozy for a few hours now. It’s irritating as hell but, whatever. Arguing about it required much more eye contact than Dean could stomach at the time.

Cas pulls into a parking space and turns off the engine with a relieved sigh as the music cuts out and rubs his temple. Dean clenches his jaw but says nothing and instead exits the Impala and heads for the reception desk without Cas. He knows that he’s only pissed at Cas because he’s tired, hot, hungry, and embarrassed, but knowing that doesn’t make the uncomfortable itch under his skin any less aggravating.

He enters the main building and stops in the doorway to simply revel in the feel of the cool air conditioning across his skin. It’s probably the best feeling in the world. If Dean were Sam he’d probably write a sonnet about the amazingness of air conditioning or something.

Dean opens his eyes and catches the young woman behind the reception desk checking him out up and down. She catches his gaze and instead of blushing and looking away she holds it and smiles flirtatiously. Awesome. Maybe Dean will be able to score them a discount. He allows a lazy grin to spread his lips and then saunters over to the desk, ignoring the sound of the door opening and closing behind him. The woman, Tiffany according to her name tag, glances over to the door briefly and then focuses back on Dean.

“Hello,” she greets.

“Hey,” Dean says. “You got any rooms open?”

“We do,” Tiffany says, flicking her eyes down to Dean’s lips and then quickly bringing them back to his eyes as she smirks a bit. “Just one room? How many nights?”

“Mmmm,” Dean pretends to think it over but is interrupted before he can get another word out.

“One room. Two queens. Three nights.”

Dean jumps a bit at Cas’s deep voice as he comes up beside him with both of their duffels hung on his shoulder and slaps a few twenties on the counter as though to punctuate the demand. Tiffany turns to Cas, blinking a few times before accepting the money with an unsure glance at Dean. Cas stares at her, stone-faced until she moves to the register.

‘ _ What the hell? _ ’ Dean mouths at Cas when Tiffany’s not looking, but Cas ignores him.

“Here’s your change. You’ve got room 17.”

Cas accepts the bills and change she pushes at him, alongside the room key, and then turns to leave with only a stern nod in thanks. Dean tries an apologetic smile, but Tiffany doesn’t smile back so he hurries to catch up with Cas. When the door bangs shut behind him Cas is already halfway down the strip to their room.

“What the hell was that?” Dean demands, jogging until he catches up just as Cas is inserting the key card into the reader and opening the door. Dean follows Cas into the room lest he be left talking to a closed door.

“Seriously dude. What’s your problem?” Dean asks when it seems like Cas is just going to ignore him in favor of dumping their bags by the door and turning on the TV. The tin canned sounds of Tom and Jerry fill the quiet spaces in the room. Cas takes in a deep breath and then lets it out slowly before turning to face Dean with a hard look on his face.

“I’m tired. I’m hungry. And I didn’t want to just stand there while you-,” Cas waves his hand between them as he apparently tries to find the right words. “ _ Flirted _ your way into bed with the receptionist.”

Dean’s jaw drops.

“I wasn’t- That wasn’t what- You know what? Never mind. Forget it. This is stupid. D’you wanna run and grab food while I shower then?” Dean asks, jaw hard and ready to put this entire day behind him.

“No. I don’t,” Cas states and then sit down on the end of one of the beds facing the television with his back to Dean.

“Are you fucking serious?” Dean demands and then reaches over and slaps the power button. An ominous quiet fills the room, but Dean doesn’t hear it over the blood pounding in his ears. A small part of him recognizes that they’re both being irrational and the only cure is a full belly and a long nap and maybe a cool shower, but he can’t stop everything from welling up and spilling over and just making a general mess.

“You don’t just get to sit around and watch fucking cartoons while I do everything. How about you contribute a bit here? Pull your weight.”

Cas slowly rises to his feet and turns to face Dean, his expression icy and hard.

“I do pull my weight. I do my fair share.”

“Oh yeah? Whose car do we drive in? Who gets us jobs? Who funded the fucking clothes on your back? And you can’t even be bothered to go pick up the damn food?”

Cas’s face shutters and goes blank and Dean immediately regrets everything he just said. He doesn’t even mean any of it. If it were Sam, he’d understand, sometimes Dean just has to fight, but this isn’t Sam. This is Cas and Dean’s obviously just struck a nerve. Or twelve.

Dean softens his voice and tries again.

“Look, Cas-,”

“I didn’t realize I was such a burden to you. I’ll let you get back to running away from your life.” The words are delivered quietly and towards the carpet, but they hit Dean like a sucker punch to the gut. So when Cas turns and walks out the door, Dean lets him. The door swings shut and latches with a quiet click, leaving Dean alone in the aftermath. He sinks down onto the foot of the bed that Cas has just vacated and stares at the closed door.

He’s not running away from his life. There’s nothing  _ left _ of his life to run from. He could have followed Sam out to California, but that place isn’t for him.  _ No place _ is for him. It’s why he keeps moving. The only place he feels at home is in the Impala, preferably with Cas at his side.

Which reminds him, Cas thinks that Dean doesn’t want him around. No, worse. That having Cas around weighs Dean down and holds him back. He couldn’t be more wrong. Having Cas around makes things easier. He makes Dean  _ happy _ .

He had enjoyed being on the road before, but now he doesn’t think he could go back to that; to being alone all the time, always a stranger, just passing through, having no one who knows him or even  _ cares _ to know him. Not since he’s found Cas and rediscovered what it’s like to not be lonely.

Dean scrubs his hand through his hair. And then the other, leaving his hair spiking up in a mess. His thoughts swirl and jumble nonsensically in his head.

Cas left. Cas thinks they’re done with… whatever they’ve been doing. He left.  _ Dean is a moron. _

He jumps to his feet and darts out the door only to freeze and slowly turn on the square of sidewalk. The sun has finally sunk below the horizon, casting long shadows across the parking lot, but it’s easy enough to tell that Cas isn’t there. The parking lot is completely empty save the Impala and a handful of other unattended cars. Dean jogs over to the Impala and peeks into the back window. Cas’s trench coat isn’t waded up in the back seat where he left it.

Dean turns and surveys the parking lot again, but it’s useless. Cas is gone.


	3. Chapter Three

“Shit!” Dean says under his breath. And then, “Fuck!” much louder because the first one didn’t make him feel any better. He kicks Baby’s tire and then hates himself a little bit more.

Cas is gone.

What’s Dean supposed to do? He doesn’t have a single way to find him besides a generic description that he wouldn’t know who to give to. They never even bought Cas a cell phone because, who would he call? There was only Dean and they were always together anyway so it just never came up.  _ Dean _ doesn’t even have a phone. Never wanted one.

Except for the phone Sam gave him, Dean remembers. After Dean dropped him off in Palo Alto, after dad’s funeral and after Dean had first told Sam his plan (or lack thereof), Sam insisted that Dean at least have something, just in case he ever got stranded on the side of the road or whatever. It’s only a cheap tracfone, but it’s all Dean needs.

Dean hasn’t even thought about the thing in months. Even in the months before he met Cas he never used it. Calling Sam using some old motel or pay phone was always easier. You don’t have to keep those charged. He hasn’t even turned the thing on since Sam stuck it in his glove compartment.

Sam would know what to do.

Without much thought, Dean opens up the glove compartment and pulls out the small black phone. As he waits for it to boot up he retreats back to the motel room. If he’s going to be spilling his guts to his baby brother he’s going to at least do it in private. Dean collapses on the bed and waits. Finally, the stupid logo goes away and he hits the menu button. That’s as far as he gets before the phone starts going off like crazy and notifications start popping up one after the other.

“Shit,” Dean mumbles, recognizing Sam’s number.

It takes a few minutes, but finally the phone calms down and Dean can scroll through all of the missed calls. They didn’t bother setting him up with data or texting because he’d never use it, so it’s just phone calls. Lots and lots of phone calls. Enough that Dean doesn’t want to take the time to actually count all of them.

They begin in earnest starting back in January. There are a few from when Dean was first given the phone, but they stop pretty quickly after Sam figured out that Dean wouldn’t be actually using the phone outside of an emergency.

Dean snorts. Some emergency. But he’s desperate, so he dials Sam’s number and prepares to feel like the shittiest excuse for a human being ever. It rings four times and Dean considers hanging up, but then there’s a click and someone is breathing in his ear.

“Dean?”

It’s Sam’s voice and he sounds worried and relieved and hopeful and Dean slouches down on the bed as the guilt settles in around his shoulders and in his gut.

“Heya, Sammy,” he says, shooting for levity, but landing somewhere around strangled house cat.

“Dean!” Sam just sounds relieved now. “I’ve been so worried. Why haven’t you called? I thought you were dead!”

Dean flinches. He deserves that.

“Nope. Same old same,” he says.

There’s a heavy silence on the other end of the line.

“Then why-,” now Sam sounds angry like he has to physically restrain his words to keep them from bludgeoning Dean through the phone, “why haven’t you bothered to call or-or anything?  _ I thought you were dead _ ,” Sam repeats, the words heavy and torn. Dean flinches again.

“I… I just… It’s stupid,” Dean mumbles.

“Tell me,” Sam orders. So Dean does. It takes precious time that Dean would rather be spending hunting down Cas, but this is something he needs to do too. Sam is pissed at him, Dean can tell. Hell, Dean’s pissed at him too. He shouldn’t have said that shit to Cas and he should have stopped him from walking out like that and yeah, he probably should have called Sam months ago, too. He’s pissed, but not surprised. He’s always been a fuck up.

“Dean, you’re an idiot,” Sam says with a heavy sigh.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees miserably.

Sam sighs again.

“So, besides the obvious, that you should have told me about this months ago, why are you telling me now?”

“He left,” Dean admits grudgingly.

“Oh,” Sam says. “Why?”

Dean pulls a face that Sam can’t see.

“We uh, had a fight,” Dean explains. “It was stupid. I don’t even know what it was about, but uh, I said some shit. And he left. I didn’t mean any of it though! He just was acting so weird and then we were arguing over like who would get food and I don’t even know how it got to how it was and then he left and I have no clue where he would even go. How the hell am I supposed to find him, Sammy?”

Sam is silent for a long moment, but Dean can tell that he’s thinking. He doesn’t know how, but he does.

“You said he was hitchhiking when you first met him?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, but he’s not some creep. He’s, you know, a weird...  _ dorky… _ little guy, but he’s not like,  _ bad _ or anything,” Dean says defensively.

“I believe you,” Sam sighs. “If he was hitchhiking before, he might try that again. You should check gas stations and truck stops and stuff like that. See if he’s still looking for a ride. What town are you in? Is there a bus station?”

“I don’t know. Antlers, Oklahoma.”

“Okay, hold on.”

A clacking sound carries through the tiny phone speaker while Dean waits.

“Okay. There’s a station. 201 West Main Street. Check there and the other places. I’ll try to think up some other options just in case he’s not at any of those,” Sam tells him all calm and collected.

Dean’s eyes sting a bit and his chest feels tight and it’s fucking stupid.

“Thanks, Sammy. I really owe you,” he says.

Sam snorts.

“How ’bout you  _ call me _ once you find him and you guys make a point to stop by for a visit and we’ll call it square,” Sam says.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

“Seriously. Call me,” Sam stresses. Dean rolls his eyes and sniffs once.

“Alright, alright. I’ll call. Keep your skirt on.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Dean hangs up with a smile. He can always count on Sam. The smile fades as he thinks about everywhere he needs to check. And to think it could be all for nothing if Cas already got a ride out of town. He physically shakes his head to dispel the thought, stuffs the cell phone in his jeans pocket, grabs his keys, and leaves. He doesn’t have time to go on a crying jag. He’s gotta find Cas first.

It’s dark outside. He kicks himself some more for not going after Cas sooner. Now he’s got to try and find him in the dark. He could drive right by him and not even notice. He drives slowly around the surrounding blocks, just in case, before giving up and driving to the nearest gas station. Cas isn’t anywhere to be seen so Dean asks the attendant if he’s seen someone matching Cas’s description. He hasn’t.

It’s the same for the next two gas stations and at the third, they just did their shift change so if Cas had been there the people who possibly saw him already left for home. A bad feeling starts to cement itself in Dean’s gut. He ignores it and drives on to check the bus station at the address Sam gave him.

He looks around as he jogs up to the doors and although there are a few people loitering around outside waiting for the next bus, none of them are wearing an old tan trench coat. He pushes through the doors and makes his way to the attendant behind the glass window.

“Have you seen a man around thirty with black hair and blue eyes wearing a tan trench coat?” Dean asks before the woman can get a word out.

Her face softens and she shakes her head sadly, causing the strands of beads around her neck to click against each other.

“Sorry, honey. No, I haven’t. Do you have a picture? I could keep an eye out for him,” she offers.

Dean opens his mouth and then shuts it and shakes his head.

“No, I… Could you, just if you see him, his name is Cas, could you tell him that… that Dean doesn’t want him to go?” Dean asks, not currently giving a shit about how pathetically desperate he sounds. The woman behind the glass doesn’t seem to care either. She just smiles and nods, not bothering to disguise her pity.

“Course I will, sweetheart. I’ll only be here until ten, but I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Thank you.”

Dean leaves the bus station, dejected. He checks a few other gas stations and a large truck stop, but it’s more just to say he did, than because he thinks he’ll find Cas. They’re too far from the motel. Dean leaves the last gas station and starts driving back. It’s time to face the facts. Cas is gone. Dean was too late. Cas hitched a ride somewhere and now he’s gone and Dean has no way to find him.

He never realized, throughout all these months how tenuous their friendship was. One slammed door and then it’s over. No desperate phone call begging for forgiveness. No rushing over to his house in the middle of the night with an apology that was practiced in the mirror until it was perfect and then promptly forgotten as soon as he saw him. Nothing. Just… gone. It’s over.

Dean turns onto the street of their— his... motel and on a whim parks in front of the bar just a few blocks away. The neon sign in the window is flashing, advertising the local brew and Dean doesn’t have a good reason to  _ not _ get shit faced tonight, so why not? It sure beats the hell out of sitting around all alone in a motel room with two beds.

He gets out of the Impala and pulls his phone out of his pocket before starting for the door. He weighs it heavily in his hand before hitting Sam’s number and putting the phone to his ear. He really doesn’t want Sam’s pity right now, but he’s been enough of a dick lately. So he calls and heads into the smoky bar.

“Did you find him?” is the first thing Sam says when he answers.

“No,” Dean monotones in response, making a beeline for the bar and purposefully avoiding eye contact with anyone and everyone. He’s not looking for a lay tonight. Instead, he plans to get good ole fashioned blackout drunk.

“Oh. Well, I was thinking we could-,”

“Just stop, Sam,” Dean says quietly as he drops onto a stool at the counter and props his elbows on it so he’s hunched forward, effectively communicating to the room to stay away. Sam stops talking immediately. “He’s gone. He got a ride somewhere and now he’s gone. I fucked it all up and that’s all there is to it.”

Sam is silent on the other end of the line and Dean takes advantage of his silence to order a whiskey.

“Are you at the  _ bar _ ?” Sam demands while the bartender goes off to get Dean’s drink.

“Yeah. So?”

“ _ So? _ That’s it? You’re just- you’re just giving up?” Sam demands.

The bartender sets Dean’s glass in front of him. Dean ignores it except to slide her a five.

“Yeah that’s it, Sam,” Dean says, a spark of anger coloring his tone. “What else am I supposed to do? I fucked up and he left. He didn’t want to stay and I’m not gonna make him.”

“You don’t know that,” Sam argues. “Maybe he does want to stay, but he thought-,”

“What would you know? You didn’t even know he existed until a few hours ago.”

“Yeah? And who’s fault is-,”

“I know that’s on me too. I know I’m just a big fuck up. I don’t need you to tell me, Sam.”

A sigh comes over the line. Dean drinks his whiskey.

“You’re not a fuck up, Dean,” Sam tells him.

“Yeah, I am. One good thing.  _ One _ . And I blew it.”

“No, you didn’t,” a gruff voice says on his right. Dean jumps and nearly drops the phone as he whips around on his stool, his heart thundering in his chest because he didn’t think he’d hear that voice ever again.

Cas looks a bit haggard, his eyes bloodshot and his face pale and scruffy, but really not much different than he looked four hours ago when Dean saw him last.

“Cas,” Dean says, shock keeping his brain from moving on past anything not exulting the fact that Cas is standing right in front of him. He vaguely hears Sammy squawk something in his ear, but he has no idea what. All of his attention is focused on the trench coat-clad man in front of him.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas replies, voice low and quiet.

“Did you… Did you hear all of that?” Dean asks, only then realizing that his phone is still pressed to his ear. He slowly lowers it down to his lap without hanging up all the while watching for Cas’s answer.

“The majority of it, I think,” Cas says and a small smile curls the edge of his mouth. “You called me a ‘good thing’ and you ‘fucked it up’ and you think I don’t want to stay.”

Dean swallows thickly. “Yeah… yeah, that pretty much… sums it up,” he says.

“I want to stay,” Cas says without preamble.

“You do?”

“Yes. Very much so.”

“Oh,” Dean says. He doesn’t know what else to say so he says is it again. “Oh.”

They stare at each other for a long minute until Dean finally cracks and drops his gaze to the dirty floor. His shoulders hunch and he folds his hands together around his phone.

“Alright, look, man. I was outta line and I didn’t mean any of that stuff I said. You pull your weight I was just… I— Look, I know it doesn’t make it any less shitty of me, but it was just, I was hot and tired and fucking starving and it doesn’t make it any better, but that’s really the only reason I said all that. I didn’t mean it. And I’m just… I’m really sorry.”

Dean trails off, unsure of what else he can say that’s not getting super personal in the middle of a public bar. He’s not ready for that kind of exposure, for Cas to know just how much Dean wants him to stay and for what reasons.

“Okay,” Cas says, lowering himself onto the stool beside Dean’s. “Do you know what you want to eat?”

“What?” Dean asks, snapping his head up to look Cas in the face. Cas just looks back, seeming to be completely at ease.

“You said you were hungry, so let’s order food. I was looking at the menu earlier and they have Hawaiian pizza, which I know is your favorite, but if you’re not in the mood we can get fries or wings or-,”

“Pizza,” Dean interrupts. “Pizza sounds good.”

“Okay,” Cas agrees and waves the bartender over. Dean suddenly remembers the phone in his hand and brings it back up to his ear.

“Sammy?” he asks, drawing Cas’s attention for a brief second before he turns back to relay their order to the bartender.

“You’re both idiots and you deserve each other and I wish you many fat happy babies,” Sam deadpans.

Dean sputters and feels his face turning red, once again drawing Cas’s attention. He only raises an eyebrow. Dean shakes his head and turns his face down to the counter.

“It’s not— That’s— Shut up,” he says weakly. Sam laughs, the asshole.

“Whatever Dean. Have fun on your date. And  _ call me _ once in a while, would you? Actually, you know what, keep the phone charged and turned on from here on out. I’ll even set you up with a texting plan so you can just shoot me a quick text every now and then to let me know you’re still alive if you don’t feel like calling. But I expect to hear from you like every other week  _ at least _ .”

“Yeah, okay,  _ mom _ ,” Dean says, rolling his eyes.

“Are you gonna do it or do I need to talk to Cas and get him to make sure you do it?”

Dean debates for half a second and then before he can talk himself out of it he thrusts the phone at Cas who looks surprised.

“For me?” he asks, eyes wide. Dean just nods and Cas takes the phone.

“Hello?”

Dean can imagine Sam’s surprise at Dean willingly letting him talk to Cas, especially after three months or so of keeping Cas a secret from him. Dean doesn’t really delve into why, but he really wants for Cas and Sam to get along. Of course, they  _ will _ . They’re both nerds after all, but Dean really really wants them to like each other. And now that’s he’s not hiding Cas, well… maybe he’ll take Sam up on that offer to come visit.

“Yes. I can do that,” Cas says into the phone. “Of course. It was nice to speak with you, Sam. Dean speaks very highly of you... Oh no. Dean doesn’t… Oh... Alright. I suppose you know best... Yes, I will. Thank you. Goodbye.”

Cas hangs up and hands the phone back to Dean.

“What was that?” Dean asks as he shoves the phone back in his pocket.

“Sam was simply ensuring that you wouldn’t ‘drop off the map’ again.”

Dean rolls his eyes at Cas’s unnecessary finger quotes, but can’t help the fond warmth spreading across his chest. He would have missed those finger quotes.

“No, not that. At the end there. What did Sam say?” Dean presses.

Cas looks away and fiddles with the edge of a circular cork coaster.

“Oh, nothing. Shall we order some drinks? I think I was just beginning to feel something when you arrived.”

Dean narrows his eyes, but in the end, decides to let it go. If Cas doesn’t want to tell him something, then he won’t and Dean’s not about to go pushing his luck so soon after getting him back.

“Have you just been here drinking the whole time?” he asks.

Cas nods.

“I was going to come back,” he says quietly.

“Oh,” Dean murmurs. “I thought… I thought you hitched a ride and was gone. I looked everywhere man,” he says with a shaky chuckle.

“I apologize. I was… upset,” Cas tells him.

Dean nods and then decides it’s time for a subject change.

“So how about them drinks, yeah? Wait. I thought you didn’t drink,” Dean accuses. For the past three months, every time Dean has gotten the urge to go get smashed at the bar Cas has politely declined, citing that he doesn’t drink. Cas smiles a bit and shrugs.

“I don’t usually have the funds for drinking. Alcohol doesn’t appear to have the same effect on me as it does others, which makes it a very expensive pastime.”

“How much have you had tonight?”

Cas pauses to contemplate the question.

“Hmm, somewhere around a half-dozen beers? Give or take.”

Dean whistles long and low.

“Well, buddy I think getting you shit faced just became the agenda for the evening,” Dean says and waves over the bartender. They’ll have to remember to leave her a good tip.

Cas smiles at him and Dean is suddenly hit with such profound relief that Cas wants to stick around. That he didn’t just up and take off like Dean would’ve. He’s still got Cas and he’s not hiding him from Sam anymore and life is good.

“Can we get two Dead Nazis?” Dean asks with a smile and a crumpled ten-dollar bill.

“Sure thing, hun,” she says and whisks off down the suddenly very busy bar. Or maybe it had been busy the whole time and Dean hadn’t noticed.

“Dead Nazis,” Cas repeats slowly.

“Don’t worry. You’ll love it,” Dean says with a smirk.

Castiel looks unconvinced but doesn’t argue and when the blackish drink comes he drinks his down dutifully. Well, half of it.

“What is  _ in _ this?” Cas demands through hacking coughs.

Dean grins and turns on his stool so that he’s facing Cas with one elbow propping him up on the bar beside his own empty glass.

“Jager and some peppermint bullshit,” he says, fluttering his hand. “Now finish your drink, princess. We’re just getting started.”

Cas glares at Dean and proudly drains the rest of his shot without so much as a grimace. It’s impressive. Dead Nazis are kinda like taking shots of Listerine.

“Next.” Cas says it like a challenge and it’s one that Dean readily accepts.

“Two cement mixers please,” Dean requests of the bartender when she comes by to collect their glasses. His stare doesn’t leave Cas as he orders and Cas holds his gaze with one of his own. It’s going to be a hell of a night.

Fast forward an hour and they’re both absolutely trashed. Cas is giggling about who even knows what and Dean is just grinning at him while he does it. His belly is full of delicious pizza and warm alcohol and Cas is here. It’s all good.

“I’m cutting you boys off,” the bartender, Maggie as they learned soon after Dean had requested Jagger bombs, says.

Cas just giggles some more and Dean turns his smile onto her.

“Shoot, Mags. We hav’nit ‘ven fall’n off ‘r seats yet,” he complains half-heartedly.

Maggie snorts and whaps him on the arm with her bar rag.

“Can it, bud. And get your boy home,” she orders.

Dean’s grin slips into something more wistful, he props his elbows on the counter and cups his hands around his chin.

“Naw, he s’not mine. He don’t thinka me like that,” he tells her.

Maggie snorts.

“That’s not what my eyes are telling me. But anyhow, unless you want him to become one with the floor then you should get to moving on back to that motel of yours.”

Dean frowns.

“How d’you know we’re at the motel?” he asks, suddenly much more alert than a second ago.

Maggie shoots him a look.

“Honey, there ain’t a soul in here who missed your little reunion earlier. Didn’t you notice that you got about three free shots courtesy of a few saps who like a good love story?”

Dean’s face flushes warmer and he drops his eyes to the counter.

“Oh. I uh- No, I didn’t. And I wouldn’t say  _ ‘love story’ _ .”

“Uh huh. You might be surprised what you can see when you open your eyes a bit,” Maggie tells him cryptically before waving goodbye and making her way down the bar to help other customers.

Dean frowns after her for a long moment before shaking it off and turning back to Cas. Cas has stopped giggling and is now staring at Dean, his face housing a startlingly serious expression. Dean’s heart skips a beat and then kicks into overdrive. Did Cas hear that? Does he know that Dean… Well, that Dean likes him a bit more than he should? Oh, God. What if he wants to leave now? Dean really wouldn’t blame him. There’s nothing more awkward than being stuck with someone all day, every day who you know has feelings for you when you don’t feel anything back.

“Cas?” Dean asks almost fearfully after a long silence.

“Dean,” Cas responds. Dean thinks that’s it, but then after another long pause, Cas continues. “I’m… Thank you. For picking me up. That day,” Cas says, sounding incredibly articulate for how wasted he truly is.

“Oh. Yeah, no problem, man. Hey, let’s get out of here,” Dean adds before Cas can follow up with a ‘ _ but now we should go our separate ways _ ’ or something. 

Cas nods and Dean goes limp with relief.

“Awesome.”

Dean slaps a wad of bills on the counter for Maggie (probably way too much but hey, he’s a generous drunk) and slips off his stool and then waits patiently for the room to steady a bit before reaching to help Cas. Cas wobbles off his seat with his brow wrinkled in concentration. Dean grabs his arm when he sways and then without thinking too much about it throws it around his own shoulders.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this drunk before,” Cas says as he frowns down at his feet, carefully placing one in front of the other as they slowly make their way to the door.

“Good. We did what we came for then,” Dean says, not really paying attention to the words. And how could he, with Cas all pressed against his side and leaning into him like he is? Dean can smell him just barely underneath the stink of cigarette smoke and alcohol. Cas is a good smell. Dean decided that a long time ago.

They make it out the door and Cas heads straight for the Impala.

“Woah, buddy. Neither of us is okay to be driving. We’re walkin’,” Dean says and tries to steer Cas back onto the sidewalk. Not only is drunk driving a bad idea,  _ period _ , but there’s no way Dean would risk Baby like that. Not even for only three blocks.  _ Especially _ , not for only three blocks.

“Too far,” Cas says with an aborted shake of his head. Dean purses his lips but heads to the Impala anyway.

“We’re not driving,” he states firmly just in case Cas is thinking something else.

“No,” Cas agrees. “Sitting.”

Oh. Dean thinks he knows what Cas is wanting now. Ever since that first morning, it’s kind of been their thing. Hard day working a job? Long day in the car? Clear night? Breakfast on the side of the road? Thursday? Even the flimsiest excuse is good enough for a long sit on the hood of the Impala. Sometimes they talk. It could be about anything, from Sammy and Cas’s daughter Claire to their favorite kind of pizza. Other times they just sit and soak up the silence, although, it’s never truly silent. They may not speak, but there are crickets and birds, sometimes a stream or some distant thunder or toads. There’s always something.

It’s kinda like what Dean and Sam would do when they both still lived in Lawrence and life got to be too much. They’d drive out into the country and park on a side road and sit watching the stars, sometimes all night, until they were both ready to go back. With Cas though, it’s different. Not better or worse, just different.

Cas climbs clumsily onto the passenger side of the hood and Dean waits until he’s stable before moving around to his side and settling in. He folds his arms behind his head and reclines back on the windshield so he can see the stars a bit better. Cas sits cross-legged and cranes his neck up to the sky and Dean finds himself watching him more than anything else.

Dean realizes that he’s sobering up much more quickly than he’d like when he starts thinking about how shitty work is going to be in the morning. It won’t be the first time he’s gone to work hungover, but they’re going to be working on a roof in the harsh sunshine from sun up to dinner time and after how much money they spent on alcohol tonight, they can’t really afford to skive off a day.

“I’m sorry.”

Dean blinks away thoughts of tomorrow and instead focuses back on Cas. He’s still sitting slouched forward and his head tipped back to stare up at the night sky.

“What?” Dean asks, thinking he might have heard wrong. He has no clue what Cas would be apologizing for. It’s  _ Dean _ who fucked up today. No surprise there.

“I’ve been selfish,” Cas says through a long sigh. Dean sits up until he’s even with Cas and Cas looks across to meet his eyes.

“I should have left a long time ago and now I’ve put you in a difficult position,” Cas continues mournfully.

“Cas, man, what the hell are you talking about?” Dean asks, his heart pumping extra hard and fast. This is it. This is where Cas tells him that he knows about Dean’s stupid crush on him and that he’s leaving. Dean feels a little like puking and he doesn’t think it’s the alcohol.

“Dean, we never agreed for me to stay with you this long,” Cas says, his eyes dropping to where their hands rest centimeters apart on Baby’s sleek black hood. “And I… I don’t want to keep you from living the way you want to.”

There’s a rock in Dean’s gut and it’s getting kind of hard to breathe.

“D’you… Do you  _ want _ to leave?” Dean asks quietly, only able to watch Cas’s face for his answer because Cas himself is so studiously looking down.

“I don’t...” A line forms between Cas’s eyebrows as he thinks out his reply. “I don’t want to be a burden to you. I know you said I’m not,” he adds before Dean can interrupt like he wants to. “I don’t want to… to be here simply because you don’t want to tell me to leave.”

“But you want to stay,” Dean clarifies. He needs to be sure.

“Yes,” Cas states, looking up into Dean’s eyes so that Dean can read the earnest expression in his features. The rock in Dean’s belly fizzles away into nothing in the face of his relief and he can breathe again.

“Yeah?” he asks leaning forward a bit, because he wants to hear it again, just in case he imagined it the first time.

“Yes, Dean,” Cas says and Dean smiles as relief swoops through him. Cas smiles back, unsurely at first and then more fully.

“I want you to stay, too,” Dean tells him and then leans forward and pecks a kiss on his lips like it’s the most natural thing to follow up the words with, like it’s something they’ve done a million times. Cas freezes and it takes a moment for Dean’s actions to catch up to him, but when they do he leans back harshly and horror floods his system and freezes the blood in his veins. Cas just stares, eyes wide and blue.

“Shit. I- Oh, God. I-  _ Fuck _ ,” Dean stutters, his breaths coming short and panicked. His every fiber is telling him to run run  _ run _ , but he’s frozen to the hood. His legs aren’t responding. “Cas-,”

Whatever Dean was going to say sticks in his throat as Cas leans forward, a thoughtful frown marring his lips and his eyes clear and blue and warm. Dean’s eyes are wide and panicked and they become more so when Cas lifts a hand and smooths it down the stubble peppering Dean’s cheek.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long, but I didn’t think I was allowed,” Cas whispers, stroking Dean’s other cheek with the opposite hand so that Dean’s face is framed between his hands.

“Oh,” Dean breathes, and that’s really all he can manage right now because his brain is sparking and smoking and in the process of shutting down entirely. He didn’t think he was allowed either.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Cas announces like the weirdo he is.

“Okay.”

Cas closes the distance between them and his lips press to Dean’s gently. At first, Dean can’t move, he can’t react. It’s too much too fast and the alcohol certainly isn’t helping. Not that kissing is a huge step, but he condemned himself to the eternal friend zone months ago and now it turns out he judged too quickly. He can have his pie and eat it too.

Cas pulls back, gloriously soft lips tugged down into a frown, but he doesn’t get too far before suddenly Dean is back online and surging forward to drag him back in.

They crash together, a bit harder than is comfortable, and their noses bump, but then they find each other’s mouths and Dean sucks Cas’s lower lip into his mouth to run his tongue over. Cas teeters before removing one hand from Dean’s face to prop himself up, fingers splayed on the windshield, leaving a smudged handprint on the glass. He pushes back against Dean just as roughly and drags his hand through the short hair on the back of Dean’s head. Dean moans and Cas uses the opportunity to wedge his tongue between Dean’s lips and curl it around Dean’s tongue.

Cas tastes terrible. Like stale vodka and morning breath with a faint hint of garlic underneath, but Dean loves it anyway because it’s  _ Cas _ . Anyone else he would have shoved off and told them to look into some goddamn mouthwash, but instead, he presses himself closer, getting as much as he can.

Cas presses a hand to Dean’s chest and gently pushes back until their lips are forced to part. Someone makes a pathetic whimpering noise and it’s definitely not Dean.

“Cas?” Dean asks, breathless.

“Inside,” Cas responds, voice rough and unsteady.

A wicked grin flashes into life on Dean’s face.

“I like how you think,” he says with a lecherous wink.

Cas just rolls his eyes and slides off the hood. Dean follows a bit too closely, a bit too quickly, and knocks into the back of Cas’s knee. Cas falls forward but manages to catch himself on the faded blue Ford 4x4 parked next to them.

“Oops,” Dean snickers.

Cas glares at him, but now that he’s started Dean can’t stop giggling. Still, they manage to make their way to the back seat of the Impala. Dean crawls in first and Cas follows, slamming the car door and then pinning Dean on his back in one quick move.

“This is so fucking surreal,” Dean says through his drunken laughter.

Cas pauses in his movements above him, holding himself up with his hands on either side of Dean and their legs awkwardly bent and tangled. No doubt this would be extremely uncomfortable if they were any less drunk.

“Do you want to stop?” Cas asks.

“Fuck, no!” Dean declares, too loudly. “ _ God, _ I’ve been wanting this. You don’t know how bad it sucks having to hide a boner all the time in the car.”

Cas studies him impassively, his lips only inches from Dean’s. He leans closer to speak, his breath warm and mixing with Dean’s.

“Yes, I do,” Cas says.

“Shit.”

Cas locks his hands on either side of Dean’s head, covering his ears and causing all of the little sounds they make to be amplified in Dean’s head as Cas mashes their lips together. Dean groans and lifts his head to push back at Castiel, to get closer, but Cas pins him with those hands securing him down like a vice and forces Dean to lay there and take it while Cas ravages Dean’s mouth. Dean retaliates by gliding his hands up Cas’s sides slowly and meticulously, and then back down again. He smirks when Cas wiggles against him. Cas nibbles his angled lips until Dean moans again.

Dean’s warm. Really, really warm. And his head is filled with white noise and fluff and there are dancing little black spots in his eyes and… It’s about then that he realizes he needs to  _ breathe _ .

Dean manages to get his head turned to the side enough to dislodge Cas’s lips and suck in a great lungful of air and immediately the white noise fades somewhat and the spots go away, but he’s still warm. Without Dean’s lips to occupy him, Cas kisses down the length of Dean’s jaw to his throat and then behind his ear and his hands loosen their grip and trail down the sides of Dean’s neck. Dean gasps when Cas scrapes his teeth over his earlobe and then licks down his throat.

“Shit,” Dean breathes, voice tremulous.

“Mmmm,” Cas hums and returns to Dean’s lips. Their kisses turn lazy and soft and Dean likes them just as much as the hard and frenzied ones.

“‘m tired,” Cas admits with an open-mouthed kiss to the side of Dean’s neck.

“Then sleep,” Dean tells him like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“M’kay,” Cas murmurs and rests his head on the soft juncture of Dean’s shoulder and chest. Dean’s hand is already entwined in Castiel’s thick dark hair from some time before so he soothes his hand through it, not really scratching, but not really petting either. Cas hums pleasurably and Dean smiles. Maybe… maybe this dumb crush is something after all.

They drift off, crushed and curled together, and don’t awaken until the over-bright sun and stiff, painful legs force them from sleep.


	4. Chapter Four

“Get off. You’re crushing me,” Dean groans. 

His legs are a strange mixture of on fire and completely numb and his left arm is tingly where it’s pinned under Cas’s side.  _ Cas _ . Dean’s eyes fly open as murky memories from last night seep back into his aching head. He kissed Cas. Cas kissed him back. Cas has been wanting to for a long time. They made out in the back of the Impala until they fell asleep and now…

“ _ Shiiitt _ . My legs are  _ killing _ me.” Dean starts shoving at Cas’s chest.

Cas snorts a little in his sleep and nuzzles his nose into Dean’s neck with a sigh. It would be cute if Dean’s legs didn’t hurt so damn bad.

“Cas. Cas, dude  _ get off _ ,” Dean growls, shoving harder at Cas’s chest. Cas is in one of those deep sleeps where nothing short of a nuclear explosion could wake him. Dean is just considering how long it would take Cas to forgive him if he woke him up via a knee to the balls when Cas finally starts blinking his eyes open and groans, long and loud. Dean can feel it vibrate through Cas’s chest and it  _ does things _ to him. Although it’s unfortunately not enough to distract Dean from the state of his legs.

“Cas, for fuck’s sake,  _ get off _ ,” Dean bites out through clenched teeth.

Cas blinks at him in a confused sleepy, wounded kitten kind of way and then rolls over and falls to the floor. Dean rolls his eyes and pops open the door behind his head and army crawls his way out of the car head first with all the grace of a slug. When his legs extend fully for the first time in several hours Dean could cry.

“Fuck, we’re never doing that again,” he gasps as he draws himself up to his feet, only managing it thanks to a steady hand on Baby’s roof as his poor abused limbs tremble beneath him. Cas only groans in response. Dean limps his way up to the hood and sprawls himself across his half, face down and more than likely leaving an oily face smear on the windshield. The sun is too bright and everything hurts.

Dean’s not sure how long he lays there before Cas comes to join him. It’s possible that he drifted off again, but his legs feel a lot better. He eventually works up the strength to sit up like a normal human being and settles in next to Cas, whose eyes are squinting so hard against the sun that they’re barely open.

“Next time we use a bed,” Dean grumbles. “And we get past second base. Not that the kissing and shit wasn’t hot, but I have needs, okay?”

Cas says nothing beside him, seemingly occupied with his hangover and Dean is hit with a sudden wave of  _ Oh Shit _ . Is Cas regretting last night? Does he even  _ remember _ ? They were both drunk off their asses and God knows  _ Dean _ can’t bring himself to regret it because he’s a sad, sorry piece of shit like that, but Cas was drunk. D-R-U-N-K,  _ drunk _ . He said himself that he’d never been that drunk before and Dean took advantage of him like some kind of low life scuzzy bad person.

Oh, shit fucking damn. Why did Dean spew all that crap? Just cuz Cas maybe wanted him once doesn’t mean it’s going to become an all the time kind of thing. Fucking hell. Why couldn’t he just keep his mouth sh— 

Dean is surprised out of his downward spiraling thoughts by a gentle kiss on his lips. He blinks and Cas’s face comes into focus just inches from his own, big blue eyes staring steadily into Dean’s and a tiny smile quirking up the corner of his mouth.

“Next time,” Cas says.

The tension bleeds off of Dean and before he can think twice he’s smiling back.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

They stare stupidly at each other until reality starts to creep back in on Dean and he checks his watch.

“Shit!” he exclaims and nearly falls off the hood in his haste to get back into the driver’s seat.

“We were supposed to be at the site 20 minutes ago!”

Cas catches up quickly and they speed the short distance to the motel down the street. Dean leaves the car running while they run inside to quickly change clothes, piss, and perform the bare minimum hygiene tasks. Soon enough they’re back in the Impala and on their way to the work site.

“Stop here,” Cas orders as Dean rapidly approaches a podunk little gas station.

“Why? We got half a tank.”

“We require hydration. We will not be repeating the events of yesterday.”

Dean turns to argue, but the look on Cas’s face has him snapping his mouth shut and pulling into the gas station. Dean does his best to ignore Cas’s smug look, but he doesn’t have much success. It’s a good look on him.

Cas grabs pain killers and several bottled waters while Dean snags two Gatorade’s, a couple Amps, and four pre-made sandwiches (one each for breakfast and again for lunch). They barely have enough cash left to cover all of it and it just puts more into perspective how important it is that they get paid for this job that they are now 40 minutes late for.

They scarf down their first round of sandwiches and half a Gatorade each by the time they reach the work site and then jog over to the worksite manager. Leslie fixes them with a stare so stern Dean has to tamp down on the urge to salute.

“Uh- sorry we’re late. We uh- don’t really have a good excuse, but we’re here to work if you’ll still have us,” Dean explains, trying not to fidget. He hopes that Cas is using those baby blues to help win her over, but he doesn’t dare turn to look. It’s impossible to tell what Leslie is thinking from her face. She just continues to coolly look over the two of them.

“Well, you’re here earlier than we’d expected. At least you’re here,” she finally says.

“Earlier than you’d expected?” Cas repeats.

Finally, her grim facade breaks and a smirk peaks out.

“You boys ain’t the only ones who enjoy a few rounds at the bar after a hard day’s work.”

Dean’s face goes red in mortification and Cas stiffens beside him.

“You were there?” Dean asks, voice shrill.

“Oh, honey, we were  _ all _ there,” she says with a true smile that quickly morphs into a scowl. She crosses her arms over her construction orange vest. “And thanks to you boys and your almost-punctual timing, I owe Boomer twenty bucks.”

“Oh, uh. Sorry?” Dean says, wondering why he’s apologizing for not being even later than they already are. Leslie waves him off and turns to stride off down the parking lot, she stops next to a pickup and turns back to them with a sly grin.

“Oh, and congratulations,” she adds and then turns to pull a pack of shingles out of the bed of the truck.

Were they that easy to read in the bar? They were drunk off their asses so it wouldn’t be too hard to believe, but drunk people are usually more touchy-feely so it doesn’t really make sense to jump to the conclusion that they’ve got raging hard-ons for each other, let alone that they  _ did _ something about it.

Dean stares uncomprehendingly until his eyes focus more on what is obviously her pickup. It’s blue and rusty and suddenly Dean has a vivid flashback of the night before. Sliding off the hood of the Impala, him and Cas drunkenly tripping over each other, and Cas catching himself on a rusty blue pickup truck.

Dean feels the heat rush up the back of his neck before enveloping his face clear to the tips of his ears. Oh God. She saw way more than any employer of Dean’s ever needed to. If not them swapping spit, then them cuddled up in the backseat. Leslie turns with the load of shingles in her arms and smirks at the sight of Dean’s face looking entirely too pleased with herself.

“Get to work, boys. Day’s a-wastin',” she says and then trundles off with her load.

“What did she mean?” Cas whispers harshly as soon as she’s a decent distance away.

Dean clears his throat and runs his hand roughly over the back of his neck.

“Uh, well. That truck was parked next to the Impala last night while we were, uh... yeah,” Dean trails off with a grimace. Cas follows Dean’s line of sight to the blue Ford and his eyes widen, just barely.

“Oh,” he says. And then again, with more gravity, “ _ Oh _ .”

“Yeah. Oh.”

Dean spends the first few hours of work with his guard up. If one of these guys so much as  _ looks _ at Cas wrong, he swears he’ll push them straight off the roof, but no one does. There’s lots of ribbing and guffaws and slaps on the back, but nothing… malicious. Dean’s relieved and horribly confused by this.

Surely, a group of macho construction men working in a hick town in Oklahoma is going to have beef with working with a couple of homosexuals. Right? Not that either of them are homosexual, but heteros seem to be notoriously unable to grasp the full spectrum of sexuality. Dean for one couldn’t give less of a shit about gender. Male? Female? Male with a vagina and boobs?  _ Why the hell not? _

And Cas is… well, he was married to a woman so, bi? Pan? Who knows? Actually, Dean should probably know. It’s got to be a requirement or something to know the sexual orientation of your… well, whatever he and Cas are.

They finish out the work day in a haze of baffled camaraderie and confused revelry. Or at least for Dean it is. No one else seems to have even an inkling that this is weird. Cas doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, he hounds Dean all damn day, making sure he’s drinking enough water to drown a whale.

Finally, the day ends and he and Cas return to their motel room. As much as Dean would love to pick back up where they left off the night before, both of them are too damn tired. They just spent a very long day doing manual labor in the hot sun after only getting a few hours’ sleep the night before, and they did it while hungover to boot. Dean counts it as a win that they manage to scarf down some dinner and take a quick shower each before collapsing into their individual beds and passing out.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

Dean twitches and jerks awake, although it takes a moment to figure out exactly why. He blinks several times before his eyes will focus properly and when they do he can only barely make out Cas’s silhouette hovering next to Dean’s bed in the nearly pitch black room. Dean twists to look at the digital clock on the nightstand between the two beds and frowns at the glowing digits. It’s barely after two in the morning.

“W’s goin’ on?” Dean murmurs, rubbing at his eyes and flicking away the crusty sand that’s gathered there.

“Nothing of import. Go back to sleep,” Cas whispers, his dark form moving away for some inexplicable reason that Dean, half asleep as he is, can’t quite conjure up.

Dean frowns, “Where’re you goin’?”

“Back to bed,” Castiel replies patiently, but Dean can see how he hesitates at the edge of his own bed.

“‘s right here,” Dean says, with a limp-wristed pat onto his pillow. Castiel says nothing for a moment and Dean grows irritated.

“Come lay down, Cas,” he orders. Still, Cas hesitates.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Mmhmm,” Dean answers, face still half buried in his pillow. It would take way more effort than he has in him right now to lift it. “C’mon. ‘m lonely, Cas.”

It doesn’t take any more convincing before Cas is gingerly inserting himself under Dean’s blankets and carefully laying his head upon Dean’s pillow facing Dean. He does this and somehow manages to keep from touching him at all. Not even an accidental brush.

Dean grumbles wordlessly and wiggles forward until his leg curls over the top of Cas’s hips and then scrunches downward until his head is even with Cas’s chest. Dean has to direct Cas’s arm to rest under his head and then maneuver the pillow to put some cushion between the hard muscle of Cas’s bicep and Dean’s skull and then pulls Cas’s other arm over and around Dean’s back.

Finally situated, he nuzzles his nose against Cas’s exposed collarbone poking out the top of his t-shirt and snakes his hand under the back of it. He sighs in contentment.

“This is nice,” Dean mumbles against Castiel’s skin.

Cas hums and the sound vibrates through his chest. “It is.”

Dean doesn’t remember falling asleep. The next thing he knows the sun is way too bright peeking through the gap in the curtains where it lands directly on his face and he is  _ hot _ . He moves to kick off the covers and instead kicks something much harder and more solid. The something grunts.

Dean cracks open his eyes and tries to roll back, but arms tighten around him, drawing him back towards the solid grunting thing and, tragically, the source of the unbearable heat. It takes a second for Dean to remember the night before, but when he does he’s suddenly much more awake than the second previous. Cas is clutching him like a lifeline and if Dean weren’t so damn uncomfortable he’d be totally digging it. As it is, his shirt is all twisted up around him and clinging to him wetly. It’s a testament to how absolutely exhausted he’d been that he’s only just woken up now.

“Cas lemme go,” Dean whines, trying to untangle his legs and wiggle away. All his wiggling does is cause him to brush up against a certain part of Cas’s anatomy that is blazing hot even through the fabric of Cas’s boxers. A wave of heat rushes through Dean, from the tips of his toes clear up the rest of his body. Oh, God, he is  _ dying _ .

He’s hot and he’s _horrifically_ turned on and suddenly Castiel’s leg shifts where it’s draped over Dean’s waist and hits exactly the wrong spot and, _dear God now he has to pee_ _like_ , _right now_.

“Cas. I need up,” Dean says, pushing at the other man’s chest, but all that happens is Castiel moans, the sound shooting a spike of desire to Dean’s belly, and he clutches Dean even tighter like some kind of octopus monster. And then the fucker starts nosing behind Dean’s ear and kisses down the side of his neck and down his throat. Dean chokes off a gasp.

“Holy shit, Cas. Can we come back to this in like five minutes, man? I have to piss so bad. All that fucking water you made me drink yesterday.”

Cas groans again but finally relinquishes his hold, allowing Dean to squirm away, but not before rubbing his knee between Cas’s legs just to be a little shit. Cas sucks in a breath and Dean has to roll over the edge of the bed to avoid Castiel’s reaching arm. He barely catches himself on his feet and then scampers off to the bathroom while Cas grumbles curses into the pillow. Cas has never been a morning person so Dean isn’t surprised in the least that he doesn’t like being teased so soon after waking.

Dean pisses for three minutes straight. He timed it. It’s almost a new record, right after that time when him and Sam were kids and bored to tears on a road trip and dared each other to chug a whole 2 liter each. Little did they know that they were just hitting a dead zone in the desert in New Mexico with no rest stop for the next 50 miles and John would be damned if he was gonna pull over on the side just because his boys were dumb little fuckers.

Dean spends an extra minute in the bathroom steeling himself to go back into the other room. It’s just Cas, he tries to convince himself. His best friend, Cas who he’s been crushing on for months now, thinking it couldn’t possibly go anywhere.

Oh, God.

What if Cas is just lonely? What if he only picked Dean because he was his only option? Or convenient? He could have literally anyone he flashed those baby blues at and clearly, he’s not  _ gay _ . He was married to a woman and had a child with her for fuck’s sake. What is Dean doing? Why would Cas ever want him over anyone else? Dean Winchester, the loser who’s running from life, apparently. That’s what Cas thinks of him.

Maybe Dean is just thinking way too much into this. He’s thinking of a relationship, but why the hell would Cas want anything except maybe some casual sex out of Dean? That must be what this is. Dean is just convenient is all. Logically, it makes sense. Emotionally… well, Dean’s never been very good at pep talks.

Dean leaves the bathroom and almost swallows his tongue. Cas is still in bed, but instead of huddled under the covers, he’s sprawled out on top of the blankets, somehow entirely naked and working his cock in his fist.

“Shit. Sorry. I’ll just—,” Dean frantically turns away and walks right into the doorframe of the bathroom, smacking his forehead painfully against the wood.

“Dean,” Cas groans behind him, long and drawn out and hot as hell with that voice like gravel.

Dean turns back, ignoring the throbbing in his temple, and Cas is staring right at him, his eyes electric blue and intense and boring into Dean. Dean’s gaze drifts away without his consent. He bites his lips as he takes in Cas’s hard chest and the tan lines on his arms from the sun where his t-shirt cuts off. He looks to the soft skin of Cas’s belly and follows the trail of hair leading down, down, down.

He swallows hard, his mouth dry. Cas’s cock is fully hard, the tip just visible poking out of Castiel’s fist and already red and flushed.

“You took too long,” Cas gasps at him, drawing Dean’s eyes back up to meet Castiel’s with a snap.

“Shit,” is all Dean can think to say.

“Dean,” Cas groans again and it’s all the order Dean needs to finally spring into action. He rips his shirt off over his head and shucks his boxers right there in the bathroom doorway. Cas is drinking him in and Dean’s glad that he’s already half hard just from looking at Cas.

“Come back to bed, Dean,” Cas beckons, jerking himself as his eyes rake up and down Dean’s naked body.

Dean feels stuck. It’s too much all at once. Not to say he doesn’t want it,  _ God, but does he want it _ , it’s just that he’s not used to being able to take what he wants. Not from Cas. He swallows thickly.

“We… we have work,” he says, his tongue thick and sluggish in his mouth.

“We have 20 minutes before we need to leave so you need to get over here  _ now _ , Dean,” Cas orders and just like that, Dean can move again.

In two strides Dean is at the bed and swinging a leg over Cas to straddle him. Dean presses his pelvis down onto Cas’s at the same moment he mashes their lips together. Their skin catches and slides and Dean moans. Cas bucks up into him and whimpers into Dean’s mouth and that’s all it takes to get him fully hard. Cas is  _ warm _ . His dick is firm and scorching against Dean’s in all the best ways. Dean grinds down onto Cas again, this time adding a bit of rutting to the motion and Cas throws his head back with a strangled gasp.

Jesus Christ. Dean isn’t going to last.

One moment Dean is sucking at Cas’s exposed throat and fucking their dicks together and the next he finds the world spinning as he’s flipped down onto the mattress and suddenly Cas is in his lap. He doesn’t even get a moment to catch his breath before Cas is pressing his whole body over him, hot hard lines everywhere at once. Cas’s nipples brush past Dean’s and he shudders. Heat builds low in Dean’s belly, everything feels tight and fast and good.

Dean moans and raises his hips to push harder against Cas, panting through his mouth. Cas rolls his hips and Dean gasps at the hot drag of flesh and the pulse of desire that shoots clear down to tips of his toes.

Cas suddenly bursts into a flurry of movement, abandoning the slow rolling of his hips and instead thrusts against Dean, again and again, causing their dicks to bump and slide alongside each other. His mouth is everywhere, gasping Dean’s name into his skin. Dean can’t keep track of it all. There are warm wet lips on his jaw and then down the line of his throat and back by his ear. Without warning, Cas sucks Dean’s earlobe into his mouth to scrape with his teeth and grinds down with his hips in the same moment, panting hard into Dean’s ear.

Dean keens long and low, his mouth gaping wide as he pants.

“Shit, Cas. Oh, shit. I’m- I’m gonna-,”

Dean comes with a gasp, his orgasm rippling through him as sticky warmth coats his belly and he bucks up into Cas. There’s a choked sound above him. Dean opens his eyes and Cas is right there watching him with that intense stare, his cheeks flushed pink and his eyes nearly full black with pupil. He doesn’t move his gaze from Dean’s as he snakes a hand between them, smearing it first with Dean’s cum and then gripping himself in his fist.

Cas pumps himself, breathing hard through his mouth and rocking his hips into Dean with every thrust of his hand.

“Dean,” Castiel moans, his voice wrecked, even deeper than usual. The sound sends a spike of desire straight to Dean’s flagging dick, despite him being spent.

“Oh,  _ God _ , Cas,” Dean whispers and then Cas is spilling cum onto Dean’s belly, his head tipped back and eyes shut while his hips rock helplessly and his body trembles. Dean lifts his hips one last time, pressing up into Cas’s balls and making his breath hitch.

Cas keels over and molds his body to Dean’s side, wiping his hand onto the covers lazily and then peppering kisses starting behind Dean’s ear and then down his throat to his shoulder and lastly to the sunburst tattoo over his heart. Dean lets him, his mind spinning haphazardly trying to wrap itself around what just happened... what  _ is _ happening.

Cas rests his head where his final kiss fell and sighs. He sounds content, happy. Dean wraps his arms around Cas and holds him there, his head just over Dean’s heart where he can probably hear it thundering around all stupidly because Cas is still  _ here _ . Even after sex he’s kissing and cuddling and acting for all the world like it’s  _ Dean _ he wanted. Dean  _ specifically _ . Like maybe he’s actually wanting a relationship with Dean and not just a fun easy way to get off.

Dean’s heart stutters at the concept and all at once he feels like an idiot for his freak out in the bathroom.  _ Good things do happen _ ; he tries to remind himself. Cas is his good thing. Hell, if he deserves him, but Winchesters are selfish sons of bitches and Dean’s not going to freely give up Cas for anything. Not now that he has him. Well, he supposes he’d give him up if that’s what Cas wanted, but it’s not seeming like it at the moment.

Cas splays a hand on Dean’s chest and Dean closes his eyes at the hot press of those fingers against Dean’s rapidly cooling skin as Cas begins to trace imageless patterns across his skin. On a whim he presses a kiss to the top of Cas’s head, ignoring the way his messy hair tickles his nose as he does so.

Cas’s tracing goes too low and he runs his finger through a chilled pool of cum. He yanks his finger away with a sound of disgust in the back of his throat and Dean laughs. It starts as a chuckle but Cas turns his head and glare at him, all narrow eyes and sex hair and those chuckles turn to full belly laughs. He keeps laughing even as he feels the cum spilling over and running down his sides onto the bed. He can’t help it. It’s a freeing kind of laugh. Here he’s been so worried about Cas not wanting him the way he wants Cas and he needn’t have worried at all. He’s got Cas here. He’s got everything he wants.

That is until Castiel deliberately swipes that same finger through the mess on Dean’s stomach and then stares into Dean’s eyes as he sticks that finger into his mouth and sucks the cum off, his cheeks hollowing. Dean’s laughter catches in his throat and another spike of arousal sparks within him. Cas smirks and then rolls off the bed onto his feet, leaving Dean grasping at air.

“We need to get ready for work now, Dean,” Cas tells him, sounding completely normal. “It wouldn’t do to be tardy again.” He shoots Dean a stern stare as Dean gapes after him, but Dean can see the good humor dancing behind his eyes.

“You’re a dick!” Dean calls after him just as Cas shuts himself in the bathroom.

Dean makes quick work of cleaning himself off (using Cas’s shirt. That asshole wouldn’t even bring him a towel) and gets dressed. After their morning romp and post-sex cuddling, they only have five minutes until they need to be walking out the door. They make it in six and Dean thanks whoever may be listening that they’re going to be working on an airy rooftop where hopefully no one will discover just how much the pair reek of sex.

They arrive at the site five minutes early and Leslie wordlessly hands a five-dollar bill to Boomer. Dean scowls at her.

“We do have a work ethic you know,” he gripes.

“Good,” she barks. “Y'all'll still get a full day’s pay, but let’s see how fast we can get this sucker done. I’m thinking I’d like to be home early tonight.”

The men cheer and the work begins. Maybe it’s because Dean got like 12 hours of sleep, or maybe because of who he slept with, or possibly who he  _ slept with _ (wink wink), but the work seems to go by a lot faster than the previous days. Before Dean knows it, he and Cas are pulling out of the parking lot with a handful of cash and a bit of light sunburn each. That morning, they’d packed up their bags (is it really called packing if you never unpack to begin with?) and checked out of their motel a night early, so they leave the work site and hit the road right off.

They roll down the windows and blow out of Antlers, Oklahoma with  _ Ramble On _ as their soundtrack and easy smiles on their lips.


	5. Chapter Five

“Why’d you leave?” 

“Hmmm?” Dean has to ask, tearing his eyes from the vast, dusty summer plains of eastern Montana. He’d been zoned out for the past several dozen miles, just driving; him and Baby and Cas. How it should be.

“Why are you living this way? You know why I left, so I was curious. You don’t have to answer if you don’t wish to,” Cas says. 

Dean stiffens. There’s no happy story here. No feel-good memories to share. Just… just a big fucking mess if he’s being honest. All Cas knows is that him and Sam are from Lawrence, Kansas, and Dean left it at that. There’s so much behind why Dean left, so much that Cas doesn’t know. And what does Cas mean Dean knows why Cas  _ ‘left’ _ ? What did he have to leave? Dean thinks he’d remember Cas telling him that.

“I do?” he asks, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel and hoping Cas will just drop the subject entirely. He knows he won’t.

“Yes, Dean,” Cas says, eyebrows furrowed deeply as he watches Dean avoid eye contact. “I left to look for Claire.”

“You did? I didn’t know that.”

He knew that Cas said he looked for her, he even did those age progression things to know what she’d look like after so many years, but Dean never connected that to Cas homeless and walking along the side of the road in a sweat-stained suit and a dirty trench coat.

“I thought you had put that together,” Cas says without judgment. Dean shakes his head.

“Nope. You know you gotta spell that stuff out for me, man. I’m not exactly the next Stephen Hawking.”

“You are a highly intelligent man, Dean. Please don’t put yourself down,” Cas admonishes easily. Dean snorts. It’s a nice thing for Cas to say anyway.

“The police weren’t able to help me. They put out a missing person’s report. They did an Amber Alert but after a few weeks… They told me the odds were almost nonexistent of me finding her by that point. It was my fault. I had waited a few days before going to them. I thought… I thought she would come back or call or...”

Cas clears his throat and takes a deep breath. He turns his face to the window and watches the telephone poles whip past as he continues.

“I tried for a year to hold onto hope, to keep faith in the police and that good things happen to good people. I went to work and I came home to my big empty house and… then one day, I left. I decided to go look for her on my own. I told my cousin to sell the house and do what he wanted with the money. God knows Gabriel would have more use for it than I. And then I drove in the direction that the last person to call the tip line said Amelia went in and I just drove. I showed people their picture when I stopped, but no one recognized them. Eventually, I ran out of money and I sold my Prius. I-,”

“A Prius,” Dean blurts, face crinkled in disgust. He wants to take it back immediately. He doesn’t want Cas to think that he doesn’t care about everything he’s telling him. He does. He cares a lot. But for fuck’s sake. A Prius?? Although, knowing Cas, he should have figured he’d drive some swanky stupid little thing. At least it wasn’t a smart car.

To Dean’s surprise, Cas smiles. He sniffs lightly and nods as he turns away from his window and looks at Dean.

“Yes, Dean. I used to own a Prius.”

“Eww.”

“They’re highly economical and have fantastic gas mileage. In fact, my Prius got well over double the Impala’s-,”

“Woah woah woah.” Dean hits the breaks a little too hard when the truck in front of him slows to make a turn. “I  _ know _ I did not just hear you throwing shade at Baby.”

“Throwing… Excuse me? I am not insulting Baby if that’s what you’re trying to say. I was simply stating a fact and the fact is-,”

“Cas, you can take your facts and shove ‘em up your ass. My baby is perfect and I’m not gonna sit here and listen to another word against her. You capisce?”

Cas stares at him for a moment, a small smile tugging his lips for reasons unknown to Dean. Usually, when people get scolded for being  _ dicks _ they don’t get happy about it.

“Yes, I capisce,” Cas eventually answers not sounding nearly as apologetic as Dean thinks he should.

“It’s okay, Baby,” Dean murmurs, petting the dash. “I won’t let the bad man say any more mean words about you.”

Cas rolls his eyes and Dean can’t help but smile.

“Are you going to tell me? You don’t have to if it makes you uncomfortable. I was simply curious,” Cas says after a few moments.

“Tell you-? Oh. I- Well, there’s not much to tell really, Cas,” Dean lies through his teeth as he adjusts his grip on the wheel and focuses steadfastly out the windshield. “I just… left. I drove Sam out to Stanford and… I didn’t go back,” Dean shrugs and hopes that Cas will drop it despite knowing he won’t. It’s not in his nature.

“Why? What did you not want to go back to?” Cas presses.

Dean shifts awkwardly. It figures that Cas would dig right into the meat of it. A simpler question would be, what  _ would _ Dean want to go back to? Easy answer; nothing. No one there needed him. The people he left behind have each other. At this point, he’s extraneous detail. He considers brushing him off. A few months ago he would have, no thinking required, just pure instinct. Now though… He really wants this with Cas, this thing.  _ Really _ wants it.

He clears his throat and hunches a bit in his seat. “My, uh… My dad died,” he answers softly. He can practically feel the waves of pity flowing off of Cas and so he hurries to continue if only to put off the courteous  _ ‘I’m sorry’ _ for a few minutes more.

“He, uh- We never… It was just me and Sam most of the time. Dad worked a lot. Did a lot of traveling, that kind of thing. Him and Sam never really got along. Sam was always so pissed at him for being gone all the time, for drinking so much, for… well, a lot of things. I took care of Sam, made sure he ate and did his homework and had clothes that fit. And that was a real bitch for a few years cuz the brat just wouldn’t stop growing. He’s taller than me now,” Dean says and directs a little grin over at Cas without thinking.

He meets big sad eyes and a delicate frown and Dean’s smile falters. He clears his throat and turns back to the road.

“Where was your mother?” Cas asks quietly.

Dean exhales shakily.

“She died.” His voice cracks and he has to clear it again. “There was… a fire. Sam was only a baby. I was four. She… she didn’t make it out.”

Dean stares out the windshield, but it’s not the road that he sees, not really. It’s blonde curls tickling his face while soft lips kiss his forehead goodnight. It’s a wide smile, open in laughter while bright eyes twinkle merrily above. It’s a stained white apron with a smattering of embroidered daisies on the bottom left corner, a little crooked and misshapen because Mary had stitched them herself. He sees sunshine streaming in through the yellow curtains that flutter in the breeze over the kitchen sink as a pecan pie cools on the sill.

“You miss her.”

Cas’s rough voice draws Dean unwillingly from his daydream. He looks over and their eyes connect, Cas’s filled with a profound sadness on Dean’s behalf rather than pity.

“Yeah,” Dean breathes. He has to tear his gaze away and look back to the road, but he can still feel Cas watching him. He wants to say something, anything, to break the heavy silence in the Impala, but he doesn’t know what. He makes a move to turn on the radio, but then Cas is speaking. He replaces his hand on the wheel.

“How… What happened to your father?”

Dean takes a deep breath and releases it.

“He was drunk. Christmas night, two years ago.” It comes out harsh, accusing. Dean doesn’t take it back. “Sam was home for break and they got into it. Sam wanted me to be more than a traveling tool salesman like dad or a mechanic or whatever. He wanted me to go to college and stuff and it pissed dad off. He was already pissed about Sam leaving for Stanford and… He thought we were trying to leave him behind. So he took off and I… I should have stopped him. I knew he was in no shape to be driving, but… I went after Sam instead. We got the call an hour later. Smashed his truck into a tree off the highway. I just… it’s fucking lucky it was a tree and not someone else.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Dean.”

Dean shrugs. It’s nice of Cas to say, but Dean knows that he could have stopped him. Dad would have listened to him. He could have made him stay home and go to bed and sleep it off, but he didn’t and that’s what Dean has to live with now.

“Sam didn’t want to go to the funeral. He just wanted to go back to school and forget it ever happened. He was sad, of course. He was his dad, too. But... it was always different between Sam and dad than it was for dad and me. Sam didn’t… He was just a baby when it happened. He doesn’t remember what dad was like before mom died. Sometimes I used to think dad died that day too, but really, I always knew he was still in there somewhere under all the whiskey and the grief and the pain. I think that’s why I always cut him slack while Sam was unrelenting.”

It’s true Dean realizes. He’d never really thought about it before trying to explain it to an outsider. Dean has memories of their dad before he became a human vessel for alcohol. Memories of playing together with Dean’s Legos on the living room floor, teasing mom about taking so long doing her hair, teaching Dean how to pedal his tricycle, riding in the center of the front bench of the Impala with dad on his left and mom on his right. All Sam has is… well, Dean. Dean did all of those things for Sam. And dad, to Sam, he was just something of a distant bill payer so they could keep the house and then a roadblock to everything Sam wanted to get out of the world.

“So, Sam left, then your dad… left. Why did you leave? Why not stay in California near Sam. Why this?”

Dean straightens in his seat and shakes those thoughts away.

“Well, I took Sam back to Stanford and then I just kinda thought, why go back? California wasn’t for me, still isn’t, and there wasn’t anything for me back in Lawrence. Or anyone. There are a few… friends that might miss me, but they’ve all got each other so…” He shrugs. “Our old house I suppose, but it’ll still be there if I ever decide to go back. I thought about selling it, but it’s all I got left of mom so I...”

Dean shrugs again. It’ll probably need a lot of work. Hopefully, someone stopped by and dumped the milk out of the fridge. Other than that, Dean called the electric company and had that shut off. Same with the water. The house was paid off years ago, so there’s none of that to worry about. The important mail gets routed to Sam so when things like property taxes come up they get that paid for. Other than that, Dean’s a free man.

“Do you want to go to college?”

The question comes out of left field.

“College? No. I mean… I don’t know what I’d go for. And I’ve never really been any good at school.” He’s conveniently leaving out how he never finished high school. He’s heard enough crap from Sam about it over the years. He doesn’t need Cas to start in too. Or worse. “I dunno. Haven’t thought about it much I guess.”

“You don’t have any dreams?” Cas presses.

Dean turns to give him a weird look.

“Sure, I got dreams. Someday I wanna own the Playboy Mansion and shit gold bricks, but I don’t think college can help me there.”

Cas levels a stern stare at him.

“Be serious, Dean. You were doing so well.”

“I dunno what to tell you, man.”

“The truth preferably,” Cas deadpans, earning a grin for his troubles.

“I dunno.” He purses his lips thoughtfully. “I thought for a while… but it’s stupid,” he trails off. He can feel his ears getting warm. He hasn’t even told Sam about his little  _ Maybe Someday _ .

“I doubt that. Tell me,” Cas insists. Dean glances over at him and sees… Cas; his best friend who’s more than a friend, Cas. He swallows thickly and stares out at the road as he speaks.

“Well, I always kinda liked the idea of being a firefighter,” Dean mumbles, hunching his shoulders as though to fend off any judgment. Being a firefighter is a child’s make-believe fantasy, not a real live grown-up aspiration.

“That’s wonderful, Dean,” Cas says and when Dean looks over, his face says he’s telling the truth. “Why would that be stupid? Firefighting is a revered career.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like… attainable,” Dean refutes, wafting his hand through the air for emphasis. “That shit takes a lot of work and even then they can still turn you down. I looked it up. You have to do training and take classes and meet a physical requirement and even if you pass all that if they don’t think you’re a good fit for the team they’ll drop you.”

“You could do it,” Cas responds without a trace of doubt.

Dean turns to match his gaze, incredulous.

“How would you know?”

“Because I’ve never met a more stubborn being in all my years.”

Dean laughs.

“You say that like you’re super old or something.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say super old, but certainly much older than you,” Cas shoots back. Dean raises a disbelieving eyebrow.

“Enlighten me, then. How old are you, Cas?”

“33. And what are you? 25?”

Dean makes an indignant squawk and turns an offended eye to Cas.

“26, thank you!”

Cas tips his head back and laughs. “Pardon me.”

“Damn straight, pardon you,” Dean grumbles. “What is that? Six years? That’s not bad. Better than seven.”

Cas doesn’t respond so Dean looks over and catches him with a stupid sappy look on his face. Dean goes to make an ugly face in return, but he’s afraid it might have come out all stupid and sappy too. He reaches over and flips on the stereo. Hopefully, Metallica will drown out all the mushy romantic crap floating around in the air. He rolls down his window too just to be on the safe side.

Two hours later the sun has set leaving a clear starry sky in its wake and the warm, dry night air gusts and swirls around the interior of the Impala. The noise of the wind coupled with Deep Purple makes conversation impossible, but that’s the great thing about Cas. He doesn’t feel the need to fill every moment with pointless conversation. They can drive with no stress, no pressing need to engage the other, simply coexisting like this is the way things were always meant to be.

Cas taps Dean’s bicep and directs him to take the next off-ramp once he has Dean’s attention. Dean does so without question and continues to follow Cas’s directions through the little town they find themselves in. Dean turns down the music a little when they enter town, but leaves it playing. Finally, Cas points to the small crumbling parking lot of a ramshackle little B&B. Dean raises his eyebrows, but turns in and cuts the engine.

The quiet of the night takes some adjusting to after the continuous rumble of the Impala, the roaring wind, and the blaring classic rock, but after Dean’s ears acclimate he can hear crickets and the distant sound of wind chimes carrying through the air. Neither he nor Cas make a move to exit the car, both finding a quiet kind of contentment in the still of the night.

Dean looks over to regard the man beside him. Cas is slouched clear down in the seat so that his neck can rest comfortably on the top of the bench, his legs sprawled all over his half of the car and his left knee nudging the shifter. His right arm is draped loosely around his middle while his left stretches across the back of the seat so that his hand sits warm between Dean’s shoulder blades. His eyes are lightly closed although he’s not asleep. He looks… at peace, so completely at ease here with Dean, like there’s no place he’d rather be.

An overwhelming feeling wells up in Dean’s chest and stops up the back of his throat as he looks over his best friend. He paints such a vastly different image from the man Dean first picked up that February afternoon all those months ago, too afraid of touching the Impala to get comfortable. Who’d have thought they’d wind up here?

Dean leans across the car and presses a gentle kiss to Cas’s unguarded lips. Cas sucks in a startled breath through his nose but doesn’t hesitate to return the kiss. Somehow he’s following Dean’s program, keeping it simple and soft but lingering and full of… something. Something Dean can’t quite bring himself to look into just yet given the fragile newness of their situation. But it’s warm and it’s nice and Dean lets himself have this even if it’s just for now.

Dean breaks the kiss. Their lips are a little chapped and they cling to each other, as reluctant as their owners to separate. Cas blinks his eyes open and Dean’s still right there, hovering. Cas smiles.

“Hello Dean,” he whispers, voice rough from disuse.

“Hey,” Dean returns just as quietly and then swoops down for another kiss because he can and because Cas is so damn kissable, okay?

“A B&B?” Dean asks when they part, but he makes no move to go back to his side of the vehicle.

“Mmmm,” Cas affirms. “Thought we’d try a step up from sleazy motels.”

“What if I like sleazy motels?” Dean pouts.

“The last one had bed bugs and mold in the bathroom, Dean.”

Dean crinkles his nose and shudders at the memory.

“Yeah, okay. Bed and Breakfast it is. Hey, maybe they’ll have a stove in the room. If they do I’m making mac n cheese for dinner,” Dean says, getting excited at the prospect despite the late hour. Cas gives him a funny look.

“Mac and cheese.”

“Dude, I make some bomb ass mac. You just wait. It’ll blow your mind.”

“I believe you.”

Dean scoffs.

“No, you don’t. Not yet. But you’ll see. There’s not a lot of stuff kids can make all by themselves so I got really good at mac n cheese and tried some things to keep Sammy happy. I used to put all kinds of wacky shit in mac n cheese and he’d go ape.”

“What kinds of things?” Cas asks apprehensively. Dean grins, shark-like.

“Sam’s favorite for a while was when I’d put that marshmallow fluff stuff in it,” Dean confesses to Cas’s undisguised horror. Dean kisses him again, quick and chaste before he pulls away from Cas’s unresponsive lips to hop out of the car.

“C’mon, let’s get checked in.”

As it turns out they do have a stove. This means a trip to the grocery store, which is fine because they really need to restock the cooler in the backseat anyway. It’s not feasible to live off of fast food and gas station snacks so the cooler is there for sandwich fixings and water mostly. Cas darts off to parts unknown as soon as they get through the doors, but Dean just shrugs and makes his way to the pasta aisle.

He automatically reaches for a good ole faithful blue box, but then hesitates. He’s not a seven-year-old kid anymore, reliant on daddy’s paycheck making it home to pay for dinner. He grabs a box of Velveeta white cheese with shells, queso blanco or whatever. The fancy stuff. Cas deserves the best. He drops it in the cart and heads over to the lunchmeat section.

On his way, he snags three loaves of bread and a jar of peanut butter. For him, he grabs honey ham and Cas gets his mesquite deli-style turkey, then he stops by the sliced cheeses. He grabs some American cheese and a small pack of pepper jack and then on a whim grabs a bag of string cheese sticks.

On his way up to the front to pay he grabs a fresh bag of ice and then stops at the only open register just as Cas is slipping his wallet back into his pocket.

“Hey, Cas. I got us the good stuff,” Dean says with a grin and tosses the box of Velveeta shells onto the conveyor belt. Cas tilts his head as he reads the box and then looks back up at Dean seemingly unimpressed.

“This is the good stuff?” he asks.

“Don’t doubt me. It’ll blow your mind. Downright  _ orgasmic _ ,” he gushes as he continues to empty the cart. And yeah, maybe he’s exaggerating a bit, but that doesn’t really account for the weird choking sound the lady behind the register makes or the way Cas’s cheeks go faintly pink as he studies the candy display. Dean gives them both a weird look but decides he doesn’t really care and pushes his now empty cart to the end of the lane while digging out his wallet to pay.

They make it out the door and back to the B&B without further incident and Dean has Cas shower while he gets started on the mac n cheese. Is it still considered mac n cheese if it’s not macaroni noodles? Technically, they’re shells so… Oh, well. He wouldn’t know what else to call it. Shells ‘n cheese? That’s lame.

Cas steps out of the bathroom still scrubbing a towel through his hair just as Dean is attempting to dump water out of the pot without also dumping the noodles into the sink. They don’t have a colander.

“Having trouble?” Cas asks and tosses the towel back onto the bathroom floor without looking. He’s dressed in his sleeping clothes, which makes sense since it’s going on midnight by now, but the view he presents doesn’t do anything for Dean’ concentration.

“No,” Dean says stubbornly, turning his back more firmly to Cas and his white t-shirt and red boxer briefs. Of course, as soon as he says it half the noodles rush at the sink. Dean turns the pot back too quickly and overcompensates causing a wave of scalding water to splash out of the pot directly onto the back of Dean’s hand. Dean curses and drops the entire thing into the sink, spilling shells everywhere.

Cas races over and turns on the faucet, setting it to cool water before jamming Dean’s hand underneath it. The skin is already well past pink and encroaching into red territory. Dean grinds his teeth together. It fucking  _ hurts _ .

“What were you thinking?” Cas demands, turning an icy glare up to Dean without removing his hand from the stream. Dean flinches back involuntarily, not expecting the sudden assault, certainly not a scant few inches in front of his face.

“What?”

“This could have been avoided, Dean. Why do you have to be so stubborn all the time? It’s okay to accept help,” Castiel snaps.

Dean is still wrong-footed by the animosity and is consequently slow to anger, but when it comes it hits him all at once.

“What the hell, Cas? I’m so fucking sorry I spilled the damn noodles. What do you want-,”

“I don’t care about the fucking noodles! I care about you!” Cas shouts, moving even closer, to the point that Dean is almost cross-eyed now, but he can’t step back because Cas still has a python grip on his wrist.

“It’s not like I did it on purpose! It’s not like I  _ enjoy _ fucking up everything I touch!”

“You don’t- Don’t say that!” Cas says, almost stomping his foot in frustration. “All I meant is that if you had just asked me for help then you wouldn’t have been hurt!”

“I didn’t think I  _ needed _ help! I thought I could do it on my own! Why the hell would I bug you about my problems if I thought I could handle it?”

“Because that’s what I’m  _ here _ for!” Cas explodes. “That’s what I  _ want _ ! I’m your- your  _ friend _ , Dean! That’s what friends  _ do _ ! They help each other!”

“Well, how the hell should I know that? I’ve never  _ had _ friends, Cas!” Dean bellows back.

Cas falters. He opens his mouth and then closes it and presses his lips together and his face drops, looking unbearably sad. Dean’s brain catches up with his mouth and shame washes over him. He drops his eyes to where Cas’s fingers are encircling his wrist and he tugs. He needs to get away. Go for a walk. A drive. Anything. Cas doesn’t budge. Instead, he grips tighter.

“Let me go,” Dean says quietly.

“Dean… I-,”

“No, I get it Cas. I do,” Dean bites out like a cornered dog, glaring briefly at Cas’s wide-eyed expression before dropping his gaze to the floor. “It’s pathetic. I never had time. I was either at school or work, and Sam always came first anyway so it’s not like-,”

Cas’s lips crash into Dean’s, knocking him back a step against the sink. Dean’s protests are muffled by Cas’s lips, still chapped, but warm and soft from his shower. Dean gives in and kisses back when Cas crowds him back against the counter, pressing their bodies together. Cas splays his hand over Dean’s jaw to hold him in place and Dean sucks in a sharp breath through his nose at the heat that spikes from his belly to his toes.

Dean gets with the program then and digs his free hand through Cas’s wet spiky hair, the other still held captive under the spray of water, and pulls him closer until their noses mash and Cas sucks Dean’s lower lip into his mouth. Dean’s breath hitches and he experiments with a roll of his hips against Cas’s front. Cas reacts immediately, using his own hips to pin Dean’s back against the cupboards with a moan, intensifying his assault on Dean’s face. Dean continues to tug and yank his fingers through Cas’s hair, none too gently, until Cas growls and nips Dean’s lip hard enough a coppery taste fills Dean’s mouth.

“If you don’t stop that I’m going to fuck you right here on the floor,” Cas warns and it goes straight to Dean’s dick.

“Not seeing the downside here, Cas,” Dean gasps and licks his lip gingerly. Cas follows the motion of his tongue and his face turns soft.

“I’m sorry. I hurt you.”

“I liked it,” Dean assures him and rubs his dick against Cas’s just in case he needs further evidence. Cas’s eyes darken and zero in on Dean’s lips once more. Dean’s breath catches.

“I can’t fuck you yet,” Cas says and then softly plants a kiss to Dean’s split lip before trailing down his jaw to his throat.

“Why not?” Dean moans.

“Your hand,” Cas says between nips and kisses.

“It’s not attached to my ass, Cas. It’ll be fine,” Dean complains breathlessly as Cas gets to work licking about Dean’s ear.

“It needs to… stay in the water for… 10 more minutes,” Cas pants directly into Dean’s ear.

Dean groans and Cas hikes his knee between Dean’s thighs until Dean’s breath hitches and the groan ends abruptly.

“And then… then I’ll fuck you,” Cas finishes and punctuates this by sucking a hickey over Dean’s trap muscle.

“You’re gonna kill me,” Dean gasps.

“Mmmm, preferably not.”

In the end, Dean’s not sure if they last the full ten minutes or not. He certainly wasn’t keeping track.

“Bed,” Cas orders, slapping off the faucet and hauling Dean in for another bruising kiss by the front of his shirt and forcing him to walk backward. Dean slips in a puddle of water, but Cas catches him.

“See? I’m here to help,” Cas simpers right before he starts yanking at Dean’s shirt to get it over his head. Dean helps him remove it and then reaches for Cas’s hem to do the same.

“I’m not good at this,” Dean grunts as he tears the shirt from over Cas’s head. “But I’m trying. You gotta be patient.”

Cas unbuttons Dean's pants and yanks down his jeans and boxers in one fell swoop, eliciting a gasp from Dean.

“I can be patient,” Cas rumbles. “Get on the bed.”

Dean hastens to obey, dropping down on his stomach.

“Wait. I don’t have anything-,”

“I do. Spread your legs,” Cas says and then the bed dips under his weight as he crawls up between Dean’s now spread legs.

“When… did you…” Dean trails off with a moan as Cas begins peppering his ass with tiny nips of teeth and lingering wet kisses.

“Earlier. At the store,” Cas responds briskly.

“At the… Oh,” Dean says as he remembers Cas putting away his wallet when Dean came up to the register but not seeming to have purchased anything. Then Cas’s and the cashier’s reaction to Dean using the word  _ orgasmic _ . “Oh.”

“How do you feel about rimming, Dean,” Cas whispers against Dean’s soft skin while he runs his hands along Dean’s hips. Dean shudders.

“ _ God _ yes.”

“Okay.”

Cas spreads Dean’s cheeks with his hands and Dean can feel the wet heat of his mouth coming almost in contact with Dean, but not quite. Dean whimpers and squirms as his dick throbs in anticipation. Cas slaps his ass and a loud moan bursts from between Dean’s lips, but he’s too turned on to be embarrassed.

“Patience, Dean,” Cas chastises.

There’s a witty retort on the tip of Dean’s tongue, but then Cas’s mouth is on Dean’s hole, his tongue swirling around the tight ring and all that comes out of Dean’s mouth is an indecipherable open mouthed keening. Dean bucks up towards Cas and Cas grips both hands around Dean’s hips and slams him roughly back onto the mattress and pins him there.

“Hold still,” Cas growls, his voice wrecked. A desperate whine escapes Dean’s lips. Cas’s tongue is back in action, swirling and darting in and out and Dean is no longer aware of all the noises he’s making. Cas pulls back and nips Dean’s butt cheek only to soothe it with a kiss.

“Stay,” Cas commands and Dean can’t imagine why he’d ever disobey that particular order. He does peek over his shoulder when Cas’s heat leaves him entirely and watches Cas’s gloriously naked self rummage through his trench coat pockets. He comes up with a bottle of lube and a box of condoms.

“I’m starting to think you had ulterior motives in getting us a B&B,” Dean comments, watching idly as Cas struggles to remove the plastic wrappings off the condoms box, unable to stop himself from rubbing his dick into the bed just to get some friction.

“I knew you would catch on eventually, Dean,” Cas mutters, scowling down at the stubborn box. Dean chuckles, effectively catching Cas’s attention. Cas looks over Dean’s naked body, eyes dark, and then settles his gaze on the clear amusement on Dean’s face.

“Having trouble, Cas?” Dean teases with a grin. Cas’s eyes narrow and then he smirks. Dean begins fearing for his life at about that moment. Cas tilts his head thoughtfully as he casually strides back to the bed. He tosses the box up next to Dean’s hands above his head.

“I will fuck you as soon as you retrieve a condom,” he says casually, but with a devilish gleam in his eyes. Dean swallows thickly, his mouth dry. Cas joins him on the bed and straddles Dean’s thighs, rubbing his dick against the crack of Dean’s ass. He leans over Dean, pressing his chest against Dean’s back and rocks his hips, driving the hardness of his erection against him.

“I suggest you hurry,” Cas says in Dean’s ear.

Dean snatches the box and starts scraping his fingernails along the top, trying to find the break in the plastic. This becomes infinitely more difficult when Cas begins pressing kisses along his spine. Cas rocks forward again and Dean drops the box. Cas chuckles darkly and the feel of it rumbling through Dean’s back has Dean rutting against the bed again with a moan.

“Hmmm, why aren’t you opening the box, Dean? I thought you wanted this,” Cas hums.

“Fuck you,” Dean gasps. His shaking hands scrabble for the box, but only manage to knock it to the floor.

“Not tonight,” Cas says. “Are you going to get that?”

“I hate you.”

Cas just smiles and presses more open-mouthed kisses to Dean’s flushed skin, but moves off of him so that he can turn and reach over the side of the bed for the box. It’s farther than Dean had anticipated and he ends up holding himself up with his hands as he hangs off the bed. He grabs the box in the same moment a warm and wet tongue licks at his exposed hole. Dean lets loose a shout and startles enough that he drops the box again.

“Not fair,” he groans, spreading his legs wider to give Cas easier access. “Playing dirty.”

Cas hums causing Dean to shudder at the sensation.

“Do you not like it dirty, Dean?” Cas asks like he's asking about the state of the carpet. Dean just moans and tries to lift his ass higher for Cas, but it’s almost impossible to get good leverage like this. Cas nips Dean’s butt cheek again, eliciting a startled gasp out of Dean. It was hard enough that Dean’s sure there will be bruise later. The prospect sends a rush of heat through him.

“You didn’t answer my question, Dean,” Cas says darkly and suddenly the naughty teacher kink that Dean never knew he had bursts into life with a vengeance.

“Are you going to put me in detention, professor?” Dean asks, breathless, and is rewarded with a slap on the rear.

“I’m sure I’ll think of something,” Cas muses. “How is that condom coming along?”

Dean groans and reaches for the damn box again. Just as he gets his fingers around the rectangle and tries to lift himself back onto the bed, Cas’s arm pins down Dean’s hips and the sound of a cap popping open behind him carries to his ears. He falters in his movements and his breathing starts coming harder.

“Cas?” he asks.

“Yes, Dean?” Cas asks huskily and then there’s a warm slick finger rubbing circles over Dean’s hole. Dean sucks in a startled breath and then groans into his arm to try and muffle the sound.

“We’re going to need that condom soon, Dean,” Cas warns softly and then pushes his finger past Dean’s entrance.

Dean bucks back and buries a cry into his bicep. Cas crooks his finger and Dean shudders while his dick pulses and throbs underneath him. How the hell is he supposed to get that damn box open like this? It’s impossible.

Of course, that doesn’t stop Dean from scratching at the sides of the box, desperate for something to give. Cas pumps his finger in and out and crooks in a few times until Dean is panting and lightheaded. Then he adds a second finger and more lube.

“Cas,” Dan sobs. His arms are shaking from trying to hold himself up and sweat is clinging to every inch of him.

“Yes, Dean?” Cas asks and thrusts both fingers into Dean at exactly the right angle. Dean cries out and his arms give away under him, crushing the box in the process.

“Come here, Dean,” Cas says, but makes no move to remove his fingers from inside him.

“I can’t. Cas, I can’t-,” Dean pants, trying to rock back and make Cas’s fingers move, but the bed is in the way.

“Yes, you can. Come here, Dean. Please?” Cas punctuates his sentence with a light scrape of his teeth against Dean’s butt cheek. Dean shivers and shakes his head helplessly. He can’t. Cas scissors his fingers and Dean keens.

“Now, Dean,” Cas orders. Dean nods and tries to hook his arm back over the edge of the bed to pull himself up, but he’s shaking so hard he can’t get a good grip. Cas starts to withdraw his fingers, but Dean backs towards him with a whine and he pushes them back where they belong.

“Cas, Cas, Cas,” Dean gasps, unable to think of more words at this point. Dean’s not sure how he manages it, but he pulls himself up onto the bed and brings the crushed condom box with him. He flops onto his belly and then tucks his knees under him so he can rock back onto Cas’s fingers and get the friction he desperately needs.

“Cas. Jesus, Cas,” he chants. He’s completely lost control of his tongue. He could cry when Cas lines up a third finger and eases it in with the rest. The stretch burns, but Dean’s to the point where it’s a good burn and he needs more. He wants Cas’s dick in him  _ now _ .

With that thought he remembers the neglected box of condoms and tears into them, shredding through tough plastic and cardboard alike until a strand of foil rectangles falls onto the bed before him. Dean lets out a choked cry and rips one open without even bothering to separate it from the strip. Cas pumps his fingers into Dean and hits his prostate. Dean shouts and drops the open condom wrapper to fist his hands into the blanket instead.

“Cas,  _ fuck _ .”

Dean’s breathless with want, rutting against the bed and rocking back onto Cas’s fingers alternatively. He can’t get enough and yet it’s all too much. Cas pumps his fingers again and crooks them and Dean lets out a high keen into the pillow.

“Where is the condom, Dean?” Cas asks and through Dean’s delirium, he notices Cas sounds like he’s losing his cool. Finally.

“I don’t- I don’t know. I don’t know,” Dean gasps and shifts back against Cas’s hand hard.

“I need it  _ now _ .”

Dean’s dick throbs and Dean decides that it’s urgent that he gets that condom to Cas pronto. He slaps his hands around the blankets and finally finds the strand and plucks the condom out of the open end. He turns onto his back, careful to move his legs around Cas’s arm so that those fingers stay put. His eyes roll back into his skull when he turns and Cas’s fingers drag inside him.

“What are you doing?” Cas asks, but makes no move to stop him.

“Gonna watch you fall apart, babe,” Dean pants back and looks up to meet Cas’s eyes and then he’s lost. “Fuck, Cas.”

Cas’s hair is wild, sticking up every which way and his cheeks are flushed. His eyes though, fuck. There’s only the tiniest sliver of blue left around his dilated pupils and they’re bright and feverish. He looks debauched. And God, there’s so much skin and Dean hasn’t had a chance to taste any of it. He decides to rectify that now.

“C’mere.”

Cas leans forward, the angle made awkward by his fingers still inside Dean, but Dean doesn’t want those going anywhere just yet. Their lips press together, dry and hot until Dean laps his tongue over Cas’s bottom lip and sucks it into his mouth to scrape with his teeth. Dean fists his hands into Cas’s hair and drags his head to the side, releases his lip, and sucks at his skin hard just above his collarbone. He kisses the spot when he’s done and licks through the slight sheen of sweat coating Cas’s throat, finishing with another bruising kiss to Cas’s lips.

“Fuck me now, Cas,” Dean orders, his lips brushing Cas’s as he does so. Cas opens his eyes, having closed them during the kiss and there’s fire there. Dean’s stomach flips. Cas picks up the condom from where Dean dropped it again and slowly pulls his fingers out of Dean to secure the condom properly over his dick. Dean picks up his head to watch, his mouth dry. Cas’s cock is fat and hard, seeping pre-come already and it sends a spike of desire through Dean to see what he does to him.

Cas lubes himself up and Dean grabs a pillow and stuffs it under his hips before Cas lines himself up, head of his cock hot against Dean’s hole. Cas hesitates, making eye contact with Dean while Dean pants, heat and excitement coursing through him and making him tremble. Cas holds Dean’s gaze as he slowly pushes into him. Dean only breaks the contact when his eyes roll back in his head and his mouth drops open. A high whine sounds from the back of his throat and Cas’s gaze is immediately drawn there as he continues to push in until he bottoms out, balls against Dean’s ass. Dean shivers as his body adjusts. It only takes a moment.

“Go,” Dean hisses. He wants Cas slamming into him so hard he has to brace his hands above him on the headboard to keep his head from getting slammed into it. He wants to be fucked so hard he forgets what state they’re in. What his last name is.

He gets all of that.

Cas pulls out until just the tip remains inside and Dean is pushing towards him, trying to keep that contact. Then he slams back home and Dean cries out. Cas pulls back and pounds into Dean again and then again and again and again. Dean sobs out Cas’s name and begs and pleads. For what, he doesn’t know, but Cas delivers.

Dean tries to keep his eyes on Cas. To watch him pant and sweat and grip Dean’s hips tight enough that Dean expects bruises come morning, but his eyes roll back every time Cas hits his prostate and scrunch closed at the sweet burn when Cas draws back out only to push back in with the slap of balls against Dean’s backside.

“Cas, Cas,  _ shit _ , Cas. Oh God,” Dean babbles. He tries to grab his poor neglected dick and finish this, give him what he needs, but Cas slaps his hand away and hits Dean’s prostate three thrusts in a row in punishment. Loud, wracking dry sobs burst out of Dean as he tries to keep up with the punishing pace Cas has set. It’s too much. He’s drowning.

“ _ Fuck _ , Dean,” Cas growls and just like that Dean is over the edge, gasping as he spills his load all over his stomach and his hole clenches around Cas’s dick almost painfully.

“Cas,” he gasps and blinks up at the man above him just as Cas gives a final thrust and his mouth drops open in a silent gasp and his body locks into place. Then it’s like a marionette’s string that’s been snipped and Cas collapses forward onto Dean, cum and all. Dean threads his fingers through Cas’s hair and they both lay there, catching their breath and reveling in the aftershocks of their orgasms.

It’s not until several minutes later that Cas pulls out, drawing simultaneous groans from both men. He snatches a shirt off the floor to wipe them both off with and then they burrow beneath the covers with Cas wrapped around Dean in his typical octopus fashion. Dean presses a kiss to Cas’s forehead and the other man sighs happily. Dean smiles and his eyes slip closed as he absent-mindedly runs his fingers through Cas’s thick hair.

Soon enough Cas’s breathing evens out and then turns to light snores. That feeling from before wells up in Dean’s chest again. The usual feeling that he doesn’t deserve this, this man, this kind of attentive care and affection, accompanies it, but Dean pushes it away. He wants this and he’s not going to let even his shitty sub-conscience fuck it up for him.

“Stop making me fall in love with you, you asshole,” Dean whispers against Cas’s forehead. The man continues to snore and Dean lets the sound lull him into sleep as well. The mess in the kitchen can be the morning’s problem. Cas never does get to try Dean’s pepper jack mac 'n cheese.


	6. Chapter Six

The tornado didn’t leave behind too much damage. It could have been a lot worse seeing as July isn’t exactly tornado season and no one was expecting it. There’s some flooding here, a few roofs missing there, and just a general mess all around. Dean and Cas were lucky that they hadn’t tried to make it through to town the night before, instead opting to stop on a backroad and sleep to the sound of rain pelting the hardtop of the Impala. They’re in the town now though and Dean’s opportunistic side is gleefully taking in all of the damage. There will be no shortage of work here.

He feels a little guilty for taking advantage of a crisis, but food in the belly and gas in the tank takes precedence over whatever moral scruples he might have left. Besides, the extra money they make will be what gets them to California- to Sam. He’s ready, he thinks, for the potentially awkward ‘taking home the boyfriend to meet the family’ social gathering. He wants Sam to know Cas and vice versa. Besides, it’s just Sam. Then again, it’s  _ Sam _ . The most important person in Dean’s life meeting the love of-

Well. Anyway.

Dean pulls in at the first motel he sees that’s still up and operating. The place looks like it avoided most of the damage from the storm, but there’s still plenty to do. Enough that they should be able to get a free room in return for maintenance services and then they can make some cash working around town in their downtime. Dean lays out the game plan to Cas and he agrees with his usual deference to Dean’s expertise in these things.

They talk to the manager in the tiny lobby and he seems eager to let them help out, but requires that they showcase their skills a bit before agreeing. One fixed bathroom fan later and Dean and Cas are in business. Dean doesn’t bother to tell the guy that the motor was clogged full of dust and lint and all it took was a good cleaning before it ran like a champ.

So here Cas and Dean are, walking down the strip of closed doors, Dean equipped with a master key and a toolbox in hand and Cas in his God-awful trench coat over his blue t-shirt and jeans despite the heat outside. Dean hasn’t asked about it since that first day, but he’s noticed that on the days Cas chooses to wear it he tends to be more quiet and introspective. Today is no exception so Dean leaves him to his thoughts. If he were Sam he’d be needling him and digging for information, but he’s Dean so he gets that sometimes you just don’t much feel like talking about whatever’s on your mind and he lets him be.

The leaky window pane they’re supposed to be repairing is in room 215 and then they’re supposed to go patch a leak in the roof in 115 and then the flickering light in 107 and so on and so forth. The door to room 215 is red and the paint is chipped and flaking. Dean ignores it and knocks.

A voice from the other side screams only to be quickly muffled. Dean and Cas trade wide-eyed glances and then Dean raises his boot and kicks in the door. The door flies open and smashes into the opposite wall. Dean’s heart thunders in his chest as he takes in the tall thin, silver-haired man crowding a blonde teenage girl against the wall beside the bed with his hand clamped over her mouth. Dean’s entrance distracts the guy long enough that the girl gets in a good kick to his nads and darts away towards Dean and the door while the guy sinks to his knees.

The girl is breathing hard and crying and as if what they walked in on wasn’t enough, her torn shirt makes it obvious what almost happened here. Dean takes in all of this in a split second and then drops the toolbox to the floor and storms over to the guy just as he gets back to his feet. Dean has him pinned to the wall with his forearm against the guy’s throat before he can even brace himself.

“Are you okay?” Dean asks the girl over his shoulder.

She nods, but Dean can see that she’s shaking despite the way her arms are crossed, hugging her midsection and she looks like she’s either going to puke or pass out. Maybe both.

“Cas, call 911,” Dean orders without looking at him. Nothing happens. There’s no rustling of movement. No one picks up the phone on the nightstand. Nothing.

“Cas!” Dean snaps and twists around to locate him without letting the piece of shit he’s pinning to the wall get away, not that he’s exactly struggling. When Dean catches sight of Cas he about drops the guy on his ass. Cas is frozen in the doorway, staring at the girl like she’s satan or maybe Jesus reborn.

“Cas?” Dean asks, concerned now. What the hell is going on? The girl follows Dean’s gaze to Cas for the first time, her eyes distant and glazed. When they land on Cas it’s like an out of body experience.

“Dad?” she chokes and her eyes go wide. She takes a step back. Dean stares back and forth between the pair as the cogs in his head take their sweet time clicking into place, but when they do it’s like a sledgehammer to the chest.

“Wait. Claire?!” Dean asks and then his brain goes numb with shock when the girl turns to face him in response to her name. Claire. Holy shit  _ Claire _ . Dean turns wide eyes to Cas and just as their eyes connect the guy slips out from between the wall and Dean’s arm and socks Dean right in the jaw. Dean goes down, stumbling first into the bed and then falling to the floor. The guy bolts for the door the second Dean is out of his way, his full lanky 6-foot something frame barreling straight at Cas.

Cas finally snaps out of his daze and his expression morphs from shock to rage in half a heartbeat. He looks scary enough that the guy hesitates and that’s all the opening Cas needs before he decks him. He pulls back his fist and lets it fly square into the guy’s face and he goes down like a sack of flour. That doesn’t stop Cas. He hits him again and again, his face contorted, lip curling, eyes aflame. He’s unrecognizable from the good-natured Cas that Dean knows. The one that feeds strays and always recycles. This Cas… Dean has never met him before.

The guy curls in on himself, sobbing and crying out, but Cas doesn’t stop. He kicks him in the kidneys and the guy screams. He kicks his face, his ribs, his arms, and legs; anywhere he can reach.

“Shit,” Dean curses as he staggers to his feet. “Cas. Cas, stop. Cas!”

Dean has to physically pull Cas off the man and he’s still fighting to get away from Dean, despite the man being barely conscious on the floor.

“Let me go, Dean,” Cas orders, voice guttural and booming.

“No. Not until you chill out, dude,” Dean says, not backing down an inch. Sure Cas is scary right now, but he’s still  _ Cas _ .

“ _ Chill out _ ? That, that  _ heathen _ almost… He tried to… My  _ daughter _ , Dean,” Cas’s voice cracks and the fight goes out of him at the same moment his breathing hitches and goes all funny.

“Hey, hey,” Dean says, maneuvering Cas around so that his back is to the now unconscious man on the floor and facing Dean. Castiel’s pupils are dilated, his face his colorless, and he’s definitely hyperventilating.

“Whoa, Cas. Hey, you gotta calm down, man,” Dean tries. He cups Cas’s face between his palms to keep his friend’s eyes locked on his own.

“Calm down?” Cas says, semi-hysterical as he tries to jerk away from Dean, but Dean follows the movement. “He- he tired-,”

“Yeah, he did,” Dean agrees, not bothering to try sugar coating the issue. Under everything, he’s just as furious as Cas, or at least close, but if he gives in to that rage right now they’re both going to prison for a very long time. “But this can’t be about you right now. You gotta focus on Claire. You finally found her and if you kill this guy you’re gonna get taken out of here in a police car and you’re gonna miss your chance.”

Cas sucks in a sharp breath as though he’s been slapped, but his breathing evens out after that and his face gains a little color. He blinks a few times and his eyes lose that crazed haze and he just seems more…  _ there _ .

“You good?” Dean asks, lowering his hands from Cas’s cheeks down to his shoulders. Cas nods jerkily and turns to face Claire who’s now sitting on the far bed with her head in her hands as her shoulders shake and tremble. Dean immediately feels like shit for not going to her first, but he had to stop Cas from becoming a murderer. And besides, shouldn’t Cas be the one going to her? He wouldn’t want to step on his toes or anything.

Holy shit. Cas is a  _ dad _ .

Dean clears his throat in the quickly growing awkward silence. He goes ignored by both Novaks and so he stoops to check the guy’s pulse and make sure that Cas didn’t kill him after all. He lets out a breath when he feels the pulse thumping away against his fingers. Thank fuck. He grabs some zip ties out the of the forgotten toolbox and makes quick work of dragging the guy to the opposite side of the room from Claire and ties him to the radiator.

Once he’s sure he won’t be going anywhere if he wakes up, he picks up the phone and dials 911. He has a short conversation with the dispatcher and once they assure Dean that the sheriff herself is en-route he drops the receiver to the nightstand despite their pleas for Dean to stay on the line. Fuck that shit. He’s got stuff to do.

It’s only when he’s no longer preoccupied that the awkward silence between the father-daughter combo behind him makes itself known. Cas and Claire are both actively avoiding eye contact with the other; Cas is staring down at his shoes while Claire fiddles with a tear in her sleeve.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Dean mumbles under his breath. Obviously, the pair is related. They’re both awkward as hell. Looks like Dean is going to play mediator just to get them to  _ talk _ . But first things first.

“Cas, lemme see your hands,” Dean orders, holding out his own, palms up.

Cas just blinks at him.

“Why?” he rumbles, but holds them out anyway, emulating the way Dean is holding his.

Dean rolls his eyes.

“You beat the hell out of that guy, dude. You don’t get to do that without doing a number on yourself, too,” Dean explains and flips Cas’s hands over so he can examine his knuckles. The skin is cracked and bleeding and already beginning to adopt a purplish hue. So much for picking up construction work in town.

“Oh,” Cas says as he stares down at his hands like maybe they belong to someone else. And then, “Ow.”

“Yeah,  _ ow _ , you fucking moron,” Dean grumbles. “You really tore yourself up. I’m gonna grab the first aid kit out of the Impala.”

Dean starts for the door, but then stops and turns back to face the other Novak.

“Claire?” he asks, much gentler than he’d been to Cas.

She drags her gaze away from Cas’s bloody hands like it weighs 50 pounds and instead focuses on Dean. She’s got her dad’s eyes. Dean swallows.

“Are you hurt?” he asks first.

She shakes her head.

“D’you,” Dean licks his lips and frowns. “D’you have another shirt you want to change into before the cops get here? If not, I can grab something from the trunk.”

“Oh,” she says and her fingertips run over the torn edge of her sleeve again absently. “No. I have my things.”

She stands and wavers for a moment, but before Dean can rush over to help she steadies herself with a deep breath and strides over to the dresser opposite the beds and opens the second drawer. Dean catches a glimpse of several t-shirts of varying colors that obviously belong to Claire and it’s only then that he realizes that she’s been living here.

With the realization comes a ton of questions that he can’t ask. Why is she living in a motel? Did she run away? Where is Amelia? Who is that guy? Why is he here?

Instead of asking, he squashes them all down and walks out past the still open and now slightly crooked door and into the parking lot. Luckily, the Impala is parked only a few spaces down so he doesn’t have to go far. He loiters for a bit in the trunk. He takes his sweet time pulling out the kit and checking the supply levels. He hopes that maybe without him there as the intrusive third party they’ll get to talking.

Then he realizes what a colossally  _ stupid _ thought that is. He hurries back and sure enough, he steps through the doorway and Cas is standing roughly where Dean left him and Claire is in a fresh shirt and once again seated at the end of the bed, cross-legged now and picking at a hole in her jeans.

Dean rolls his eyes. Figures.

He leaves the door open. The sheriff will be here soon and this just saves him the trouble of having to answer the door when they arrive.

“Sit, Cas,” Dean orders, pointing to the bed currently not occupied by a traumatized teen. Cas blinks at him for a moment and then sits obediently at the foot of the bed. Dean unzips the canvas bag that he keeps his medical supplies in and gets to work. He squats in between Cas’s knees and starts by dabbing an alcohol swab against the broken skin. Cas hisses and jerks his hands away.

“Hold still,” Dean says, grabbing at Cas’s hand again, but Cas pulls it up high out of his reach.

“It  _ hurts _ ,” he complains, looking like an overgrown child with his big eyes and his hands up over his head. Dean rolls his eyes so hard he almost pulls a muscle, but on the inside, he’s a tiny bit amused.

“No shit. That’s what you get for going into a homicidal rage,” Dean tells him. “Now,  _ hands _ .”

Cas glares petulantly but does as he’s told. Dean goes back to cleaning the wounds as Cas winces and flinches at every contact with the swab.

“Stop being such a baby,” Dean complains as he moves to the next hand.

“It is impossible for me to regress back to infancy,” Cas replies sullenly.

Dean snorts and wipes away his grin with his shoulder.

“Thanks for the lesson, Professor Literal.”

“You are very welcome, Dean.”

Dean allows the smile this time and Cas smiles back, albeit only a little. The bickering helps and Dean feels like he’s on surer ground. Familiar territory. Now maybe he can begin to deal with the soap opera they’ve suddenly landed themselves in.

“Okay, so Claire,” Dean begins, glancing up briefly to ensure the teen is paying attention while he wraps Cas’s hands in bandages. It throws him for a minute to look up and see Cas’s eyes staring back at him out of this girl’s face. He’s known that Cas is a dad almost since he met the guy, but it never really sank in until now.

Dean clears his throat and tapes down the final bit of bandage.

“When the police get here they’re going to ask you whether or not you want to press charges. So you should think on that, alright kiddo?”

Claire nods, but Castiel jerks his hands away from Dean and rises to his feet, leaving Dean to scramble back lest he is knocked over. Cas stares down at Dean like he’s never seen him before and it’s warily that Dean rises up to his own standing height.

“Of course she’s pressing charges,” Cas barks.

Dean’s mouth is dry and his stomach is churning, but he holds his ground.

“That’s not your decision, Cas,” he tells him, quiet, but firm even as his heart sinks.

“I’m her father. He tried to rape her.”

Dean sees Claire flinch at the word and knows this is something that she definitely doesn’t need to sit through. Without a second thought, he digs Baby’s keys from his pocket and tosses them to land next to Claire on the bed.

“Big black classic Impala a few doors down. Can’t miss it. Wait there, alright?”

Claire nods and hovers for a beat, but then she flees the room without a backward glance. Cas stares after her as she disappears around the doorframe. He then turns to stare at Dean in anger, hurt, and betrayal. Dean tries not to flinch.

“What the fuck, Dean?” Cas snarls.

The question ignites a fire in Dean.

“No, what the fuck  _ Cas _ ,” Dean corrects him, fisting his hands at his sides.

“I’m trying to protect my  _ daughter _ ,” Cas snaps.

“No, you’re trying to protect yourself.”

Cas reels back like Dean slapped him.

“And how have you come to that conclusion?” Cas asks spitefully, visibly buzzing with fury.

“Because it’s not your life, Cas!”

“She’s my  _ daughter _ , Dean! She  _ is _ my life!”

“That’s not how it works. You don’t get to make this kind of decision for her.”

“That’s what parenthood is. Making decisions based on what is best for my child and what is best for my child is that the… the  _ vermin _ that tried to rape her gets locked away where he can never touch her ever again,” Cas spits, his cheeks pink as he gestures wildly at the unconscious man against the wall.

“Police,” comes a voice in the doorway. Neither Dean nor Cas turn to address the owner and instead simultaneously point at the man zip tied on the other end of the room.

“You think what’s best for her is for her face to be plastered all over the news? For her to not even be able to go to the grocery store without being recognized as the girl who cried rape? You think that’s best for her?” Dean demands, harsh and unrelenting.

Cas exhales and visibly calms, the anger draining away to leave behind a tired shell. He scrubs a hand over his face and winces when it aggravates his injured hands. His eyes look suspiciously pink, but Dean doesn’t let that sway him.

“Why do you want her to let this go so badly?” he asks after a drawn-out pause. Dean scoffs.

“I don’t. I want that asshole locked up for the rest of his miserable life where he can never touch Claire or anyone else ever again. I want to come after him so hard that there won’t be enough money in the state to pay back what he owes. I want him to suffer, Cas. I do. But it’s gotta be on Claire’s terms. She’s gotta make that decision or she is gonna hate you forever for doing that to her without giving her a choice.”

Cas nods looking absolutely miserable. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and nods some more.

“Okay,” he finally says and lets out a long shaky breath. “Alright. Her choice.”

Dean releases the breath he was holding. He really hates fighting with Cas.

“When did you become the reasonable one?” Cas grumbles petulantly and Dean has to laugh.

“Uh, like 20 minutes ago when you went AWOL. It’s good to have you back,” he says and slaps Cas’s shoulder. Cas sniffs and oh God his eyes are red and puffy now.

“Hey don’t-,” Dean sighs. “C’mere. Bring it in.”

Cas doesn’t hesitate to lean into the hug and bury his face in Dean’s shoulder as they hold each other tight like if they don’t hold on hard enough the other might slip away.

“I… I imagined this day so many… so many ways but I never… never this. This is awful. I hate this,” Cas whispers.

Dean runs a hand slowly up and down Cas’s spine and frowns. He can’t fix this.

“I know. Me too.”

They stay like that until a throat clears behind them.

“Ahem. Done?”

Dean and Cas disentangle themselves and sheepishly turn to face the sheriff standing impatiently in the doorway. Dean blinks and a quick glance around the room reveals that Claire’s attacker has already been removed.

“Yes, I believe so,” Cas answers, more himself than he has been since before they knocked on the door to room 215. The sheriff glances down at his bandaged hands and then back up to his face, her eyebrows high on her forehead and mouth in a taut line.

“I’m Sheriff Mills. You sure did a number on your guy. I’ve got a deputy taking him to the hospital before taking him to booking.”

Cas frowns and holds eye contact with the sheriff in that way he has.

“I interrupted him holding down my daughter and tearing at her clothes while she screamed for help. I believe my actions were the only logical response,” Cas explains in his usual deadpan fashion.

Sheriff Mills scrutinizes him critically for a long moment and then allows an almost smile to present itself and suddenly the room feels ten degrees warmer. Dean let’s out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“I find myself inclined to agree with you on that count,” she says. “Now, where are you hiding this daughter of yours?”

“Oh. She’s in the car,” Dean answers and begins to lead the way. “We didn’t want her to… be uncomfortable.”

As he steps through the doorway he has a brief moment of panic as he realizes that he tossed his keys,  _ Baby’s keys _ , to a virtual stranger. She could have just taken off and then Dean would have to hunt her down and kill her and that would definitely put a damper on what he’s got going on with Cas.

But then the ambulance pulls out of the parking lot and Dean has a clear, unobstructed view of the Impala. He knocks on the window and Claire suddenly pops up from where she was lying down in the back. The automatic worry drains from her face as she recognizes Dean. Something hard and cold turns warm and pliant in Dean’s chest and he’s not quite sure he deserves it.

She unlocks the door and slips out, handing Dean the keys somewhat reluctantly.

“Nice car,” she mumbles. Dean beams and elbows Cas in the ribs.

“See Cas? Some people can appreciate the classics,” Dean goads. Cas rolls his eyes hard enough to give the Earth an extra rotation.

“For the love of God, Dean. Let it go. I didn’t mean to insult your baby. I only pointed out that a vehicle with a more efficient f-,”

“If you bring up your stupid Prius again, I swear I will put wasabi on your burger again.”

Cas’s teeth clack together as he slams his mouth shut and narrows his eyes at Dean.

“That was cruel,” he says stiffly.

Dean just grins and winks at Claire who smiles faintly back.

“Are we ready to get to business, children?” Mills asks, but not harshly. Cas looks chastised anyway and the amused light dies from Claire’s eyes. Dean makes a point to grin unrepentantly to try and make up for it. Claire lifts her chin a bit. Good, she’s a stubborn thing like her dad.

“Where should we do this?” she asks.

“Well, that’s up to you,” Sheriff Mills answers. “Where are you going to be the most comfortable? We can go to the motel room and you can walk me through what happened, or we can go back to the station and try it there. It’s up to you.”

Claire chews her lip and then comes to a decision.

“The room will be fine. My stuff’s there anyway.”

“Do you-,” Cas starts and then stops and tries again. “I just want you to know that whatever you decide to do I will respect your decision. Obviously, you are already aware of my opinion, but should you chose not to I will still support you, 100%.”

“Thanks,” Claire says down to the ground.

“And, umm… Would you like Dean and I to wait out here or I could come or…” Cas trails off.

“I think it’d be easier if you waited here,” Claire replies quietly, unable to quite look at Cas as she says so.

“Okay. That’s fine. We’ll be right here,” Cas says and manages to keep the disappointment from his voice and features until the door swings closed behind the sheriff’s back.

Dean immediately wraps his arms around Cas from behind and lets the man sag into him. Dean shuffles back until his backside hits sun-warmed metal and the Impala is holding up their weight. Cas turns so they’re chest to chest and presses his nose into the warm skin of Dean’s throat.

“You’re alright,” Dean assures him, rubbing a hand up and down Cas’s back. Cas shakes his head and burrows closer to Dean, wrapping his arms around Dean’s back and clinging tightly.

“I found my daughter. I’m supposed to be happy,” he whispers. Dean holds him tighter.

“Things’ll get better. They can only go up from here. Right?”

Cas stays conspicuously silent. Dean frowns but doesn’t know what else to say. Instead, he rests his head atop Cas’s and keeps holding on. He never expected to run into Cas’s friggin’ kid while they were on the road. Or ever really. But… he finds that it’s not really that big of a deal. Like, obviously it  _ is _ a big deal and if it’d been anyone else or any earlier in his life, Dean’s not sure he’d be able to handle it.

But it’s  _ Cas _ . And Claire obviously needs her dad and Dean’s not one to break up family anyway. She’s been living in a motel room with no mother to be found. Something in that situation is not right. Not for the first time, Dean wonders where her mom is. Maybe she’s working? That would be the logical conclusion, but something in Dean’s gut is not on board with that.

“I would…”

Dean drags himself from his thoughts and turns his attention to the man in his arms.

“I would very much appreciate it if Claire decides to come with me if you could transport us to another location to stay.”

Dean frowns, the patch of skin between his eyebrows crinkling deeply.

“Well, of course I will,” he agrees immediately. Of course, they won’t make Claire stay here. That would be cruel and insensitive. Castiel lets out a breath like he’s relieved.

“Thank you. And I promise that will be the last we will ask of you. We won’t bother you for anything else.”

That doesn’t make any sense to Dean. Cas has never bothered Dean. Certainly, doing such a little thing for Claire’s comfort wouldn’t bother Dean either. Hell, he doesn’t really want to stay in this shitty motel either, knowing as he does now what kind of clientele they serve.

Dean’s breath stalls in his chest as he catches onto Cas’s meaning. He pulls back and grabs Cas by his shoulders until he looks up at him. Cas is frowning, the crease between his eyes deep and prominent and his eyes sad and confused.

“You don’t want me anymore,” Dean says, stomach plummeting with the words as a hole opens up in his chest. He knew it. He  _ knew _ it. Cas was just lonely. He latched onto the only person he had. All of the kissing and cuddling was just out of a desperation to feel connected to someone. The sex, it was just that. Sex. He feels like an idiot for ever thinking Cas could feel something more for someone like Dean.

The back of Dean’s throat hurts and his eyes are pricking. He just… he  _ knew _ it. People like him don’t get to have good things like Cas.

“I- Dean,” Cas starts, squinting up at Dean’s face and here it comes. The break-up speech. Cas has his daughter now. He doesn’t need Dean. “Do you- I thought you wouldn’t want this.”

Dean’s brain stutters. What?

“What?” he asks. Cas says nothing. He just stares.

“I didn’t think you’d want this,” Cas repeats. Dean frowns at him. Not want Cas? Who wouldn’t want Cas?

“I do, Cas. I- I-,” Dean can’t say it.

“A child is not…” Cas trails off, searching for the words and coming up short, “If Claire chooses to live with me I cannot continue our nomadic lifestyle and even if she chooses to stay with Amelia… I can’t lose her again. So regardless, I am going to stay. I can’t lose her again, Dean. I can’t. I won’t.”

“Okay, one: I would never make you choose between me and your kid, Cas,” Dean informs him, a little stung. “And two: you think I would want to just…” Dean flaps his arm expressively, “drift around without you?”

He hopes that Cas doesn’t notice how upset he sounds but Dean  _ is _ upset. Since they’ve found Claire he hasn’t once thought about jumping ship and leaving them to figure it out. He has, if anything, not known  _ how _ to make it work, but knew that they’re  _ going to _ .

“That’s what you were doing when we met, so yes. I assumed that you would-,”

“Yeah, Cas. You assumed. Didja forget how fucking lonely it is to just drift around all alone,” Dean says frustration and maybe a hint of desperation seeping in and coloring his tone. It’s starting to sound a lot like Cas doesn’t want him around and just doesn’t want to say so. He’s still gripping Cas’s shoulders and judging by Cas’s wince his grip is a bit too tight. He loosens it but refuses to let go. If he lets go, Cas might leave.

“But…” Cas’s mouth is twisted in a confused frown. “You could just pick up someone like you did me and then-,”

“No, Cas,” Dean says firmly, shaking his head. Doesn’t he see? “Are you really gonna make me say it?”

“Please do, because I don’t understand why this is so distressing for you,” Cas says, eyes beseeching. Dean tips back his head and groans. If Cas didn’t look so damned earnest, he’d think the fucker was playing him. Either way, it pisses Dean off.

“I want to stay with  _ you _ , you asshole. It wouldn’t matter who I picked up because they wouldn’t be  _ you _ , you stupid son of a bitch. I would… I would… Home’s not a place, it’s people. You’re my people, you- you dumb ugly  _ dick _ . And I… I’d miss you. I need you, man.”

Dean drops his hands from Cas’s shoulders abruptly and fists them at his sides instead. It’s all out there now and there’s no taking any of it back. If Cas is going to reject him, it’s going to be now and Dean is going to duck out of here with his tail between his legs and go… Well, he doesn’t know where he’ll go or what he’ll do. The road doesn’t have the same appeal if Cas isn’t there in the passenger seat.

All Cas does is stare, first with blatant wide-eyed shock and then… then it softens and his mouth curves ever so slightly into a smirk of all things.

“You’re lying,” he says.

Dean’s mouth drops open and his blood swirls. He could storm and rage and burn down the entire town, but before he can do any of that Cas continues.

“I  _ know _ I’m not ugly,” he says and then fucking grins, his eyes soft. Dean vaguely registers that his mouth is still hanging open.

“You smug bastard,” Dean belatedly says and then Cas crushes their lips together. Dean grabs the back of Cas’s neck and holds him there as he bites and nips and licks at Cas’s mouth. Cas steps in closer and fists his hands into the back of Dean’s flannel.

“I hate you,” Dean growls into Cas’s mouth and the fucker smiles. Dean nips his bottom lip for it.

“I hate you, too,” Cas purrs like it’s a different four letter word crossing his lips. Dean’s heart stutters and Cas drops his head to press chaste kisses up the column of Dean’s throat.

“Smug bastard,” Dean repeats trying to pretend like the kisses aren’t doing anything for him.

Cas hums. “You possess knowledge of a great variety of expletives.”

Dean tilts his head to give Cas easier access.

“Apparently for good reason. I need them so you know how much of a  _ douche _ you are.”

Cas lifts his face from Dean’s neck and stares into his eyes, his pupils fairly dilated and his lips puffy. Cas stokes his hand down Dean’s stubble and Dean leans into the touch.

“Ahem.”

They spring apart. Or Cas leaps away from Dean and Dean bangs his funny bone on Baby’s frame.

“Ffffffudge,” Dean curses, cradling his elbow. It’s completely dissatisfying and his whole right arm is tingling and in pain. He shoots a dirty look at the sheriff who’s standing just a few feet away with Claire by her side, a duffle bag slung over her shoulder. Claire is looking up towards the sky, awkwardly trying to avoid eye contact with everyone. Sheriff Mills, on the other hand, has no problem looking each of them dead in the eye with clear disapproval.

Dean feels his hackles start to rise, far too used to having to defend his less than straight relations to bigoted assholes and like hell he’s going to let this woman make Cas into a spectacle in front of his daughter. But then he catches the faint twinkle of amusement behind the disapproval and he sets aside the righteous anger and settles into just plain embarrassment instead.

Cas has already beat him there. He’s fidgeting his hands and can’t quite look anyone in the face, especially Claire. Dean clears his throat.

“So uh… How’d it go?” he asks, shooting for levity and falling somewhere around pre-pubescent boy as his voice cracks.

“It went swell,” Claire says, rolling her eyes. “And how did things go out here? Make me any half-siblings?”

Dean barks out a laugh, surprised by her sudden coming out of her shell. Cas mutters something about it being ‘not biologically possible’ at the concrete and Dean and Claire both snort.

“Claire needs to come into the station tomorrow,” Mills interrupts, bringing Dean crashing back into the severity of the situation. “to have her official interview and then-,”

“Wait, hold on. I thought she just did that,” Dean interrupts and the sheriff skewers him with an impatient look.

“She gave more of an informal version, but since we’re pressing charges she needs-,”

“We’re pressing charges?” Cas blurts, all traces of embarrassment vanished. The sheriff presses her lips together thinly at being interrupted yet again, but Cas only has eyes for Claire. Claire just rolls her eyes.

“Well, duh. I’m not gonna let that scumbag do that to someone else just because I was too chickenshit to go through with it,” Claire says, crossing her arms over her chest and holding Cas’s gaze with her chin stubbornly up. Dean already thinks she’s awesome. Cas opens his mouth and then closes it. Then he smiles, one of those super rare ones that make the laugh lines beside his eyes crinkle up and his lips pull until his gums show.

“I’m so proud of you,” he says with so much raw sincerity that Dean suddenly has a craving for a long hot shower. Gross. Claire drops her chin until she staring down at the pavement and scuffs the toe of her sneaker.

“Yeah, whatever,” she mumbles, but Dean can see the shadow of the smile she’s trying to hide.

“Claire!”

Claire’s head snaps up and Dean turns to follow her gaze and sees a woman jogging toward them. A large purse swings from one arm and her light brown hair is dry and wispy and escaping from her bun every chance it gets. Claire stiffens and casts a worried glance up at Cas. Slowly, she lowers her bag to rest on the ground beside the Impala.

Dean follows the look and freezes in place when he sees the pained expression clouding Cas’s face. Maybe it’s the way Cas sets his shoulders or it could be the determined set to his mouth, or maybe the way his hands clench into fists at his sides. Whatever it is that tips Dean off doesn’t matter. Dean knows that this woman is Amelia Novak, Cas’s wife.

“Claire, what the hell are you doing?” Amelia demands.

The closer she gets the more haggard and worn she appears, but not in a natural way. She’s thin to the point she appears gaunt and her skin hangs off her bones. He knows the sheriff sees it too when she squares her shoulders and her eyes go flinty.

“You weren’t supposed to leave the room until I got back,” Amelia snaps, either not noticing or not caring that the rest of them are there. “Did you just leave Rick in there by himself? You’re such a selfish little slut.”

“Mom-,” Claire starts, but it’s as far as she gets.

Dean starts forward to step between mother and daughter, but Cas gets there first, a blank mask in place, and Dean is reminded that this is  _ Cas’s _ family matter and Dean should probably butt out.

“Amelia, I will not allow you to speak to our daughter in such a way,” Cas says so coldly Dean wonders if they’ve skipped fall and gone straight to winter.

Amelia stares at Cas, eyes blank and brows drawn together in either anger or confusion and then recognition sets in. Sheriff Mills uses the distraction to quietly guide Claire back from what might soon become an altercation and leaves her to stand between herself and Dean. Dean silently offers Claire the keys to the Impala, but she shakes her head and turns back to her parents, fear, curiosity, and concern waring on her face.

“Castiel?” Amelia asks and then sneers, her gaze dragging up and down Cas’s form in a way that makes Dean want to hide him away in the Impala and get rid of this horrible woman himself. “Still wearing that awful old coat I see.”

“Claire picked it out for me,” he states simply, like it’s all the explanation that’s needed, and for Dean, it is. Suddenly the ‘sentimental value’ Cas mentioned the coat having that very first day makes sense and so does Cas’s affinity for wearing it despite its impracticality on days when he’s quiet and withdrawn. Those must be the days when he’s missing Claire the most. Funny how today started as one of those days.

Amelia scoffs and changes tracts.

“I knew you’d try to butt in eventually,” she says and her upper lip curls in disdain. Cas’s carefully blank expression slips.

“Of course I would,” Cas snarls, that rage suppressed under the surface breaking free for a moment. “You smuggled my daughter out of the house in the middle of the night and vanished.”

“What?” Claire asks, taking half a step forward, her eyebrows pinched together in a way eerily reminiscent of her dad. “You said dad kicked us out. He didn’t want us anymore.”

Cas spins around to face Claire looking like a kicked puppy.

“You think I don’t want you?” he asks. His voice is small and wounded in a way it should never be and it has Dean’s protective instincts flaring sharply, screaming at him to get Cas out of here and in the Impala on the road to anywhere else.

“I did, but then… Then you saved me and now I…” Claire trails off and shrugs, biting her bottom lip.

“ _ Saved _ you?” Amelia cuts in. “What does that mean? Saved from  _ what _ ?”

“She was sexually assaulted. I’m assuming it was this Rick fellow who was chosen by you to watch over her,” Cas informs her icily, turning back to his wife.

Amelia’s confusion falls away to reveal amusement of all things.

“Oh, is that all? I wouldn’t worry too much. The little slut likes the attention.”

“No, I-,”

Amelia continues, talking over Claire like she’s not there.

“Where  _ is _ Rick? He get pissed and leave? He’s such a drama queen.”

“The hospital still, I believe,” Cas replies and Dean is impressed with how well he’s suppressing the fury he knows he’s feeling. Dean himself is struggling to not do something that should not happen in front of the sheriff. “And from there the police will be taking him into custody while we press charges.”

Amelia’s jaw drops.

“You did what?” she screeches and drops her purse, the contents spilling over the asphalt. She storms up to Cas, getting into his face, and that’s Dean’s breaking point. He storms forward and shoulders his way in front of Cas to loom over Amelia and all but snarls at her.

“Back off,” he snaps, towering over her and looking menacing enough to stop her in her tracks. It works for all of two seconds before she’s sneering again.

“And who’s this? Your booty call of the week?” Amelia asks, ignoring Dean in favor of baiting Cas and Claire some more. “You see, Claire? I did lie, but it was to protect you. It turns out your dad is a  _ fag _ . I had to get us out, but I didn’t want you to worry about how it, so I lied.”

“Lady, you are batshit crazy,” Dean says.

“It’s true!” she shouts, her eyes bugging from her skull. “He was going to divorce me!”

“We are all painfully aware that your husband is about as straight as a rainbow,” Sheriff Mills says, drawing attention to herself for the first time. She’s pulling on a pair of latex gloves and Dean can’t for the life of him figure out why until she walks forward and squats in the mess of Amelia’s spilled purse and picks up a little baggie of white powder between two fingers.

“Probably not the best idea to drop your illegal substances in front of the sheriff,” she says blandly and suddenly Dean likes her 10,000 times more. The sheriff seals away the powder in an evidence bag and then stuffs it into her pocket while Amelia stutters.

“That’s- that’s not mine. I don’t know where it came from.”

“Alright. Then you won’t mind coming to the station with me to do a little drug test then,” Sheriff Mills says, gazing imploringly at Amelia. Amelia stares wide-eyed and doesn’t respond.

“That’s what I thought,” Sheriff says, pulling out her handcuffs. “Don’t bother runnin’. Even if I couldn’t chase you down faster than a coon dog, these boys here would gladly do the honors.”

Amelia still doesn’t respond and the sheriff begins citing her Miranda Rights as she cuffs her hands behind her back and then leads her away with a brief reminder to Cas to bring Claire to the station in the morning.

“Hey, mom!” Claire yells from where she’s suddenly materialized on Cas’s other side. Sheriff Mills pauses before stuffing Amelia into the cruiser so Amelia can glance back.

“I’m a lesbian!” Claire shouts at the tops of her lungs. Amelia’s mouth drops open and her face contorts, but then Sheriff Mills stuffs her the rest of the way into the vehicle and slams the door. Dean throws his head back and crows with laughter.

“High five!” he offers and stretches a palm out to the teen. Claire rolls her eyes, but high fives him anyway. Look at Dean, bonding with Cas’s kid and shit.

The sheriff starts backing out of her parking space and Dean turns to Cas. “Alright Cas, your turn,” he says.

Cas blinks and then holds up his hand for a high five as well.

“Not that,” Dean rolls his eyes and slaps the hand away gently, mindful of his bandages. “You’re supposed to yell after her that you want a divorce.”

“Why?” Cas asks as the sheriff starts to turn out of the lot.

“Uh, because you want a divorce? Hurry up! You’re missing your chance, dude! You’re ruining the movie moment!”

“I think it’s obvious that I’d like a divorce, Dean. I hardly think I’m required to shout it to the heavens,” Cas states plainly as the sheriff pulls out of sight. Dean sighs at the lost opportunity.

“You’re such a wet blanket,” Dean complains.

Cas ignores him in favor of turning to Claire, eyes wide and blue and earnest. “I am so sorry,” he says. “I wish I could undo all of this.”

“It’s fine,” Claire shrugs to the ground.

“It’s not,” Cas disagrees. “But, I was hoping that… That is to say… Would you come live with me? I know you don’t really know me and I’m not in any way prepared for this, but I promise to try. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work and we’ll buy a house and-,”

Claire cuts him off by throwing her arms around him and almost knocking him off his feet.

“Shut up. Of course, I want to go with you,” she says, her words muffled into his chest.

Cas stands there for a long moment before finally wrapping his arms around her smaller frame and holding her tight. Something that’d been anxious and tight in Dean’s chest loosens to see them finally connecting. He’s so happy for Cas that he doesn’t even care how their relationship is going to have to change. You always make room for family.

“Are you sure?” Cas asks. “I don’t even have a place to live,” he admits, his voice rough with emotion.

“Me either. Can we just get out of here? I don’t care where. Please?”

“Of course,” Cas immediately agrees. When they pull back they both have red-rimmed eyes and for once Dean manages to keep his comments to himself. Although, it probably has less to do with his self-control and more to do with Claire disentangling herself from her dad and then attacking Dean next.

“Oof,” Dean grunts when she slams into him, but he returns the hug.

“Thank you,” she breathes.

“Anytime, kiddo,” Dean replies while patting her back a bit. Truth be told he’s not sure what she’s thanking him for exactly, but he’s not about to ask.

“Don’t call me kiddo,” she says and pulls back, wiping at her eyes a bit. Dean smirks, ignoring the tears in exchange for good-natured ribbing.

“No kiddo?” he pouts. “How about short stuff? Blondie? Rug rat?”

Claire punches him in the arm with an unamused scowl, but her mouth twitches so Dean figures they’ll be alright.

“You're going to be a pain aren’t you?” she asks.

“It’s a gift.”

Claire snorts.

“So what are you guys anyway? Life partners or whatever? You’re obviously not platonic if the parking lot tonsil hockey is anything to go by.”

Dean and Cas trade unsure looks. Claire brings up a good question. It’s been months, but they’ve never actually talked about it.

“We’re… boyfriends,” Cas answers belatedly and Dean wrinkles his nose.

“No, we’re not. We’re just… together,” he corrects. Cas looks confused and a little hurt so Dean hastens to explain. “Boyfriends makes me think of like… middle schoolers.”

Cas’s expression clears and he rolls his eyes.

“Of course,” he mutters.

“What? I can’t help it,” Dean complains.

“I’m gonna side with Dean on this one,” Claire interjects.

“Aha! See!”

Cas ignores them both. Instead, he picks up Claire’s bag and deposits it in the trunk.

“Where to now?” Dean asks, twirling his keys around his finger absently. Cas frowns and glances back at the motel.

“Should we inform the manager of our change in plans first?”

“Oh shit. Yeah, I’ll go,” Dean immediately offers, having completely forgotten about their maintenance job given the dramatic overturn their lives just took in the span of an hour. “You guys hang here.”

It takes longer than Dean would like to calm down the manager and assure him that he’ll repair the door that he broke before they take off. The guy is furious and Dean’s not entirely sure who it’s directed at. In the end, the only thing that gets him out of the office is a belated phone call from the sheriff, informing the guy of what occurred on his property and apologizing for not telling him in person, but she had an unexpected arrest to make.

Dean hurries back to where he left Cas and Claire waiting in the Impala and quickly explains the situation.

“He’s making you stay and fix it?” Cas asks with a deep frown, referring to the broken door.

“Well, I did kind of break it down,” Dean reminds him.

“Yes, in an emergency response to a crime.”

“I could’ve used the master key he gave us.”

Cas frowns.

“I forgot about that.”

“Yeah, me too. Anyway, it won’t take long. You guys go ahead and book us somewhere else. Doesn’t matter where. And grab some food on your way back. I’m starving.”

“You’re always hungry,” Cas points out but accepts the offered keys and slides across the bench from the passenger side to the driver side. Claire takes the opportunity to switch from the backseat to the front.

Dean waves a bit as Cas pulls away. It’s weird, he decides as he stands in the middle of the parking lot and watches Cas, Claire, and his Baby leave him behind. He realizes as they exit the parking lot that they’ve got everything he holds dear save Sam.

Dean shakes off the unsettling feeling and gets to work fixing the door he ‘vandalized’. He loses himself in the work, letting his hands do what they’re best at as he allows his mind to wander. His life has inexplicably changed since this morning. There’s no getting around that. His life on the road is over unless he leaves Cas behind, which to Dean, is not an option.

Cas makes him happy like nothing has since before Sammy left for Stanford and even then it was a tempered happiness, always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for that little spot of happiness to get sucked away. And it always did. Whether Sam picked a fight with dad or vice versa, it was always temporary. And then Sam left and dad was gone and everything Dean had ever worked towards, keeping their family together and if not happy at least content, was gone.

He had nothing left to work for, no purpose. So he went out on the road and, as cliché as it sounds, he found himself. He found out that he’s good with his hands. He can take things apart and build new things, whether it be an engine or a building, he’s good at it. He could make a living that way. But there was never a good enough reason to stop anywhere and stay. He’d last maybe a week and then that itch would return, to get on the road, to keep moving, to keep searching for that something better.

As it turns out, that something better is a person. It’s Cas. And together it doesn't matter where they are or where they're headed. The itch left a long time ago, but still, they never had a good reason to stay anywhere so they didn’t.

But now… Now they’re staying. Maybe not here, but somewhere and Dean doesn’t know how he’s going to handle it. He knows he doesn’t want to leave Cas. He wants to be wherever Cas is and if that means getting a job and renting an apartment, or hell, he’d get a mortgage and they could-

He’s getting ahead of himself. He's known Cas for less than a year and they’ve been “dating” for only a few months of that and here’s Dean thinking about them moving in together and getting a house and-  _ Shit _ . If they’d had any type of normal relationship, he wouldn’t be considering any of that. Two months is way too soon to be moving in together or doing something crazy like get a mortgage. It’s insane.

Surely, Cas will insist that they get their own apartments. Why would he want Dean around 24/7 while he reconnects with his daughter? Sure, the freedom of the road and hanging with Dean must have been fun for a while, but Cas is going to want to try and get back to normal now. He’s going to get some office job working 9-5, he’s going to buy a house with a picket fence, go to PTA meetings, invite the neighbors over for dinner, and- and-

Dean can’t do that stuff. He’s not equipped for it and trying to force it is going to destroy him and Cas and all of the good things they’ve got going. What was he thinking? There’s no happily ever after here. Not like this. He’s so stupid.

Dean shakes his head and steps back from the newly repaired door. The paint is still peeling and you can see where the wood had to be repaired, but it’s functional. In a haze, he returns to the manager’s office to tell him the door is fixed and that he’ll be taking his leave now.

He leaves the office and simply stands there on the curb for a minute. Cas isn’t back yet. Dean sinks down to sit on the curb and wrestles his phone out of his pocket. He stares down at the ancient thing for a minute and then flips it open. He’s been calling Sam weekly like he’s supposed to and it’s been pretty nice honestly, not that he’d ever tell Sam that. Dean keeps his phone on him and charged now and usually, he’s the one to call, but sometimes Sam calls too.

They talk about Sam’s schooling a lot. Sam’s got a teacher that he can’t stand. He swears the guy is the devil and he’s got a thing for Sam. Dean offered to come up and do something about it, but Sam very adamantly refused the offer claiming that he can take care of himself. Dean, for once, actually listened. Not that he wasn’t tempted, but Sam’s right. Dean’s not going to be there all the time to fight his battles, so it’s good that he learns to fight his own.

It’s been really good. Dean feels more connected to his brother than he ever did when they lived together. Back then he was more Sam’s parent than his brother. He couldn’t have a conversation with him without wondering if he was doing it right if Sam needed help with something if Dean was supposed to be imparting some lesson, some imperative information that would shape Sam’s future. Now they can be brothers for the first time and Dean’s found that he really likes it. It’s nice to have family he can fall back on rather than having to pretend to have everything under control at all times.

Dean hits call before he can talk himself out of it and puts the phone to his ear. The line rings and Dean half hopes that it’ll go to voicemail. Maybe Sam’s at the firm working his internship. No such luck.

“Hey, Dean. What’s up?” Sam’s voice comes through the line and Dean’s shoulders hunch further. It’s gotten easier to come to Sam with his problems, but it’ll never not feel like he should be better like he shouldn’t have to rely on Sam and as the big brother, he should be able to keep his shit together himself. It’s easier, but he’s still working on it.

“Hey, Sam.”

“What’s wrong? Are you okay? Is it Cas?”

Dean huffs a laugh and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“It’s, uh… Nothing’s wrong, well kind of, but... It’s just…” Dean trails off and purses his lips. Why is this so hard?

“Start at the beginning,” Sam suggests.

So Dean starts at the beginning, the very beginning. He tells Sam about Cas and Amelia and Claire. He tells him about why Cas was homeless, walking along the side of the road in the first place. Then he skips ahead and tells Sam about the storm and the maintenance job and finding Claire and all of the shit involved with that including meeting Amelia and then he kind of trails off. He doesn’t know how to verbalize what he’s feeling. That he won’t be good enough. That Cas is going to want more or something different and Dean won’t be able to deliver. He’ll fall short and he’ll lose Cas and then what? He’ll go back on the road? He’ll crawl back to Lawrence? Run to Sam in California?

Cas has the ability to break Dean so thoroughly without even trying and it’s freaking Dean the fuck out.

Sam is quiet for a long minute after Dean goes silent so Dean waits. He can always count on Sam to have ideas.

“Where is Cas now?” Sam eventually asks. Dean takes a breath and lets it out.

“I had him and Claire go find us another motel and some food while I fixed the door I broke. They should be back soon, I think,” Dean purses his lips. What if they don’t come back? What if they take off without him? What if-? Dean shakes off the thoughts. He might have only known Cas for a few months, but he  _ knows _ him. He wouldn’t do that to anyone. Not even Dean.

“Okay,” Sam says slowly in a way that means he’s putting his words together to share with the class. “So Cas found his long-lost daughter and now you’re panicking because you think he’s going to break things off with you?”

Sam asks. Dean grimaces and nods.

“Kinda,” he says after he remembers that Sam can’t see him. “I just… I don’t know what he wants. And, what I want… It’s not normal. We’ve… We’ve only been together for two months, Sam.”

“What do you want, Dean?” Sam asks and Dean grimaces. Of course Sam would go all Dr. Phil on him. Dean glances around quickly, but the parking lot is still deserted.

“I… I just want him,” Dean says quietly, mortified that he’s confessing this to anyone, least of all his baby brother. “I like Claire. I wouldn’t… I’m not going to leave him just because he finally got his kid back. But… I don’t want to get my own apartment while they buy a house. I’m going to need to get a full-time job and if I screw it up, I’m fucked. There’s no just picking up and moving on to the next town. I want… I want…”

“You want to be a family,” Sam supplies knowingly.

A searing spike of guilt punctures Dean’s gut hearing the words come from Sam’s mouth. “You’ll always be family first.”

“No, I know.” He can practically hear Sam rolling his eyes. “I get it. You’re not replacing me, Dean. And you know what? If they’re your family, then they’re mine too.”

A hot knot of emotion blocks Dean’s throat, making him have to swallow a few times before he can respond. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Don’t you dare hold back because you think it’s what I want, alright?”

“I- yeah.” Dean draws in a deep breath and lets it out again. “Yeah, okay.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line for a long enough that Dean presses the phone harder to his ear as a motorcycle roars past on the nearby interstate.

“What do  _ you  _ want, Dean?” Sam finally asks.

Dean draws his knees up to his chest and rests his forehead on them, letting out a long breath. He knows exactly what he wants.

“I wanna research the best high school for Claire to go to,” Dean admits roughly. “I wanna make sure she makes friends and that she gets into whatever clubs she might like or sports or whatever.” Dean sighs. “I want to make them both breakfast before work and school and be there for Cas when he comes home after a hard day at work and for Claire when one of her friends makes her cry. I want us all to go bowling and vacation to fucking Disney World or,  _ fuck _ , a  _ Pride _ parade, whatever and I just… It’s stupid. It’s only been two months and I shouldn’t-,”

“It’s not stupid.”

Dean almost chucks the phone across the parking lot when the voice comes from right beside him rather than through the phone. He jumps and whips his head up to see Cas sitting on his left and the Impala parked a few spots away with Claire in the back peering curiously through the windshield from the backseat.

“Cas-,” Dean gasps, the tightness of his throat strangling the single word. “Oh shit. What did you hear? You gotta stop doing that, man. I’m getting you a bell.” Dean laughs awkwardly. He knows he’s rambling, but he can’t stop and Cas, that fucker, he just sits there and smiles at him, that tiny little quirk to his mouth that wouldn’t count as a smile on anyone else, but somehow suits him.

“You should tell Sam you’ll call him back later,” Cas suggests, still with that little smile. Dean swallows thickly and presses the phone to his ear.

“Uh, Sammy-,”

“Yeah, whatever just call me later,” Sam interrupts, his shit eating grin obvious even through the phone. “Dibs on being best man!”

“I- It’s not-  _ Bitch _ ,” Dean stutters.

Sam laughs. “Love you too, jerk.”

The line goes dead in Dean’s ear and he has no choice but to deal with the fallout of what Cas just overhead. Dean stuffs the phone in his pocket and then turns his attention to plucking at a bit of thread poking out of the inseam on his jeans.

“Dean, look at me.”

Dean doesn’t want to. He never wants to have to look anyone in the eye ever again, he’s so humiliated. How the hell did he not hear the Impala pull up?

“Dean,” Cas insists and then Dean’s chin is pinched between a finger and a thumb and his face is being dragged around to look at Cas. Dean resists at first, but then heaves a sigh and warily allows himself to be guided. Cas is closer now, his face only inches from Dean’s like he’s going to kiss him, but he doesn’t.

“I want those things too, Dean,” he confesses. Dean frowns. He can’t have heard that right. Cas drops his hand and the eye contact as he continues and Dean finds it a lot easier to watch Cas’s face as he talks.

“Dean, I- Claire and I talked and she would not be averse to us all living together and I must admit I was hoping,” Cas looks up at Dean through his lashes. “I was hoping you would want to live with us as well.”

Dean blinks twice as his brain whirls and rushes about trying to make sense of this development.

“I- Are you sure?” Dean can’t help but ask. He’s always gotta look the damn gift horse in the mouth. “I mean… I’m not exactly easy to live with. I suck at doing laundry-,”

“I know,” Cas interrupts.

“And I- I drink a lot,” Dean continues regardless.

“You’ve gotten better.”

“I have a temper. I lash out about stupid shit.”

“It’s okay. We all have our faults. We’ll work on it.”

“I suck at communicating.”

“I know.”

“I have an unhealthy obsession with my car.”

Cas actually snorts. “We can live with that.”

“I- I… Cas, I…” Dean trails off. He doesn’t know how to make Cas see all the ways this can go wrong. If they jump into this too fast and fuck it up, then that’s it. They’re done and that’s the last thing Dean wants. He’s finally doing something for himself and he doesn’t want to stop just because he can’t handle life in suburbia, USA.

“What if I can’t hack it, Cas?” Dean all but whispers, mouth dry. “What if I just… I can’t do it? My life’s never been normal. I’ve never had the apple pie life. I don’t even know  _ how- _ ,”

“Nothing about us is conventional,” Cas interrupts. “I don’t know why we would try to be now of all times. We will make it work, Dean. I want this. And if you want it too-,”

“I do,” Dean blurts, feeling the back of his neck go warm. “I- Yeah.”

Cas smiles, all soft and warm.

“Then we do whatever it takes to make it work.”

Dean frowns.

“But what will I  _ do _ , Cas? I’m gonna need a job and we’re going to have actual bills to pay and responsibilities and I can’t coast like I have been. What if I crack under pressure? I don’t wanna make you hate me.”

It kills Dean inside to say these things, but he can’t let Cas walk into this blind, even Dean isn’t that big of an asshole. He knows he’s never been any good at the domestic stuff. Just look at how his own family turned out: half of them are dead and what’s left haven’t even seen each other in years. He doesn’t want to do that to Cas’s family too.

“Dean, I could never hate you. I’m not trying to change you,” Cas says slowly, his little smile gone, replaced with a frown. “I just want us to be together and I want us to be happy. I don’t want you to try and be something you’re not. I just want to try.”

Dean chews his bottom lip and forces himself to hold Cas’s earnest and trusting gaze. He still doesn’t know how this will work. None of his questions have been answered. When he tries to imagine how this will play out he still only sees himself crashing and burning and taking Cas down with him. But when Cas looks at him like that and when he says those things… Dean can’t help but think that maybe they stand a chance. Maybe they can make it work through sheer force of will and stubborn Winchester backbone. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s done it.

“Okay,” Dean agrees, taking a deep breath and meeting Cas’s gaze in time to see it go wide. “Okay,” Dean repeats.

“Are you sure?” Cas asks. “We don’t have to-,”

“Cas, man, you can’t browbeat me into agreeing and then ask if I’m sure. No, I’m not fucking sure, but I’m gonna do it anyway, because…” Dean pulls a face, knowing what he’s about to say is going to come out horribly cheesy and he’s never going to live it down. “Because you make me happy and apparently I make you happy too and I’m willing to do whatever it takes for that, okay?”

Cas’s frown disappears under a bright smile and Dean wrinkles his nose at it.

“Okay,” Cas says and Dean rolls his eyes. Outing your emotions this much all at once can’t be healthy.

“Great, that’s settled. Let’s get the hell out of here,” he says gruffly. He pushes himself to his feet and starts for the Impala as Cas follows closely behind.

“Dean, wait.”

Dean stops and cautiously turns to face him. Cas steps right into his space and fits a hand over Dean’s cheek. Cas presses their lips together and some of Dean’s anxiety fades.

“You really do make me happy,” Cas tells him.

“Yeah?” Dean asks, forever looking that fucking horse in the mouth.

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

Cas leans in and kisses him again, keeping it chaste and short, both mindful of the teen waiting only feet away. They break apart and Dean has to drop his eyes as they approach the Impala and slide inside. Cas gets in the passenger side and wordlessly hands Dean the keys.

“You two are sickening,” Claire says from the back.

Dean smirks at her through the rearview mirror.

“Better get used to it, cupcake.”

“Don’t call me cupcake.”


	7. Chapter Seven

They’re quiet the following morning. It’s almost a shock for Dean to enter the bustle of regular life when he leaves the motel for a donut run. When he gets back it seems even quieter than it’d been before. They all pile into the Impala to head to the police station and the radio stays off. It seems inappropriate to break the silence, especially with music that’s meant to pour out of the speakers and fill your bones and filter out across the open highway.

They get to the station and the deputy guides Claire to the back towards a private interview room, leaving Dean and Cas to wait in the lobby. Cas stands in the middle of the room for a long minute after Claire is gone and he’d given her an awkward pat meant to be a show of support. Dean shuffles his feet, but when it becomes clear that Cas has every intention to not leave that spot of carpet until Claire returns he hooks a finger through the loop on the sleeve of Cas’s trench coat and drags him over to the chairs against the wall.

Cas only resists for a second before relenting and turning to follow. The silence lingers while they wait. The whole station seems to be affected by the hush. Dean crosses his arms over his chest and settles in while Cas picks absently at the frayed edge of his sleeve. Dean frowns at it, but he’s not entirely surprised by Cas’s choice to wear the old coat again today.

Dean can’t begin to imagine how hard it must be to go through this as a father.  _ As a father _ . It’s still weird to think of Cas like that. Yeah, he’s known in some abstract kind of way that Cas has a kid, but now it’s real. Real enough that Cas needs the comfort of his old trench coat to help him through rediscovering his daughter and the horrific scene in which he found her. Of course, Cas wore his coat today.

Dean discretely watches Cas through the corner of his eye. He continues to pick at loose threads in his coat until someone exits the hallway Claire disappeared down. Cas’s head snaps up, but it’s just an officer coming through and stopping to chat with the man behind the front desk. Cas’s head slowly droops until he’s slumping in his seat once more, a deep frown tugging his lips down.

Dean’s sure he’s supposed to be doing something for Cas. There’s gotta be something in the job description of a boyfr- uh, partner or whatever. He’s supposed to make Cas feel better or say something to let him know that Dean’s got his back or… something. Dean’s no good at any of this. He sucks so bad at these things. He doesn’t have any words. He can’t make anything any better. What’s he supposed to do?

He opens his mouth and nothing comes out so Dean does the only thing he can think of. He reaches across the space separating him and Cas and puts his hand palm up in Cas’s lap. Cas freezes in his fidgeting and stares down at Dean’s hand. Time ticks on and horror starts creeping up under Dean’s skin. He fucked up. He did it wrong. Oh God, what is  _ wrong _ with him? He can’t even do this one little thing ri-

Just as Dean is about to retract his hand and strongly consider walking out into oncoming traffic, Cas tentatively fits his fingers in between Dean’s and presses their palms together. Dean sits stiffly for a long moment, thinking any sudden moves might scare Cas away or worse, make him question Dean. The longer he stays though, the more tension he sees drain from Cas’s shoulders and in lieu of fiddling with his coat sleeve, Cas begins smoothing his thumb in circular motions over the back of Dean’s hand.

It feels nice. Dean relaxes into the contact; he even gives Cas’s hand a quick squeeze that the other man returns immediately. It’s just hand holding. People do this all the time. Dean knows this. But it doesn’t explain the heat he feels creeping up the back of his neck and warming his ears. He sneaks another look over at Cas and sees him smiling down at their entwined hands in his lap.

Huh. Maybe he did do something right after all.

Dean files the information away for future reference. Note: Cas likes holding hands. And hey, Dean doesn’t think it’s so bad either. It’s nice.

They sit this way for the next several minutes; still silent, still anxious, but together now. It makes a surprising difference.

When Claire comes back they stand in unison, still holding hands. Dean bites his lower lip when her eyes are drawn there, but she doesn’t say anything and he releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding. Cas gives Dean’s hand a final squeeze and then loosens his grip until Dean’s fingers slide from between his and Dean’s hand falls back to his side feeling cold and empty.

Cas puts an arm around Claire’s shoulders and pulls her in for a stilted one-armed hug. She seems to appreciate the effort though because she offers up a watery half-smile when they part. Cas and the deputy trade a few words about the case and how it’s going to play out. Cas promises to pass on his new phone number as soon as he gets one so that he can stay updated and not have to stay in town.

As it is, the police shouldn’t need anything else from them. Claire’s statement should hold up just fine on its own in court without her having to take the stand. Cas all but sags in relief at the news that Claire won’t have to testify in court and Claire looks about the same. It’s as though a huge weight has been lifted from all of their shoulders.

No one smiles, it’s too soon for that still, but the pressing silence is lighter and during the walk back to the Impala Cas falls back and fits his hand into Dean’s once more. They’ll be okay.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

Lunch goes better than breakfast. They go out to a diner to celebrate after buying Cas a phone. He only has three numbers programmed in it: Dean, the Sioux Falls police department, and (after some convincing from Dean) Sam. The heavy cloud that’s been hanging over them for the past day has mostly dissipated. Claire is still pretty quiet and she doesn’t eat much, but Dean figures that’s gotta be pretty normal all considering. She drinks down her entire chocolate shake at least, so he figures that’s a start.

Dean and Cas don’t really talk much either, but they touch more than normal. Cautious fingertips graze the back of Dean’s hand on their way to the ketchup bottle, knees lean against their neighbor, feet nudge each other under the table, shoulders bump gently; it’s one of the best meals that Dean’s had in a long time. And they have pie, so there’s that too.

They pile back into the Impala after lunch and Dean takes his time fiddling with his cassettes instead of getting started. To be honest, he’s got no clue what to do next. They’d had their sights set on getting through the morning and now it’s over and he’s faced with… what exactly? Making a home together? How? Where? He doesn’t even know where to start.

A glance at Cas shows that he’s in about the same boat.  _ Well, that’s two strikes out of three _ , Dean thinks. He glances up into the rearview mirror and is only disconcerted for a second when Cas’s eyes stare back at him. He blinks and Claire’s face fills in around them.

“Where to next, kiddo?” he asks.

She pulls a face and shrugs. Her gaze drifts to out the window and the corners of her lips turn down in distaste.

“Anywhere but here,” she finally says.

Dean shrugs and turns the key in the ignition. He glances at Cas briefly before replying.

“Alright.”

They go south. Dean doesn’t have a specific destination in mind and no one speaks up to offer suggestions, so he just drives. They don’t have a lot of money left, but they’ve got enough to put some decent miles between them and South Dakota. Cas sits in the passenger seat with a pen, a deep scowl, and a packet of papers given to him to fill out to apply for divorce. Apparently, there’s a thing called abandonment and it’s a legitimate reason to divorce your spouse without needing their signature. The only reason Cas hadn’t done it before now was that he didn’t want to cut himself off from Claire, just in case. Now that he’s got Claire and Amelia is in jail, there’s nothing stopping him.

“Can you turn that down?” Cas snaps when they’re halfway through Iowa. There’s a biting retort on the tip of Dean’s tongue, but he swallows it after a quick glance over. Cas’s hair is sticking up every which way and his brow is furrowed in that way it gets when he’s frustrated and overwhelmed and he’s rubbing at his temples like he’s got a headache. He’s only halfway through the packet.

Dean punches off the stereo and talks over Cas’s sigh of relief.

“Put that shit away,” Dean orders.

Cas glares up at him, jaw clenched tight.

“No. I need to finish this so I can-,”

“I know dude, but it’s not going anywhere. You can finish it later. There’s no point in killing yourself over it.”

Cas continues to glare at him, but then turns and aims the ugly look towards the papers in his lap instead.

“Fine,” he grumbles and Dean suppresses a smile. He can’t help it that Cas is cute when he gets all grumpy. Cas tucks the paperwork into a manila packet and slides it under his seat. Only once it’s safely put away does Dean roll down his window, allowing the fierce summer wind to whip into the car and breathe them all back to life. Cas mimics the action and after a moment Claire does the same. She doesn’t look too happy about it, but she does it and that’s important.

Cas rests his elbow on the window ledge and then lays his head down on his arm so the wind whips through his hair. He closes his eyes. After a few minutes the line finally disappears from between his eyebrows, his face smooths out, and his breaths come out deep and even. Dean’s lips quirk in a small smile when he notices and he glances up into the rearview to meet Claire’s curious stare. He shrugs.

“Works every time,” he eventually says. And it does. Anytime Cas gets particularly stressed out, nothing soothes him more than hanging his head out the window like a dog and passing out. He’s a loveable weirdo at least.

Claire nods a bit and glances over at her dad and bites her lip. Dean knows what’s coming. He’s been waiting for it even though he was kind of hoping she’d hit Cas with all the questions. Makes sense that she’d ask Dean though. It must be hard trying to reconnect with your dad after so long. A lot changes over seven years. At least with Dean, it’s a blank slate.

“You seem to know him pretty well,” Claire says after a bit.

Dean shrugs and nods.

“How long have you guys been… doing this?” Claire asks. Dean frowns. He’s not sure if she’s asking about them being uh,  _ intimate _ or if she means the whole rambling drifter thing so he answers both.

“Well, I picked him up back in January and we just kind of clicked. The rest of it didn’t start until a couple months ago.”

“What do you mean you picked him up?” Claire asks tentatively.

“Oh. He was uh, hitchhiking,” Dean answers with a wince. He hopes Cas is okay with Claire knowing this stuff.

“Why?”

Dean sighs out a huge gust of air and glances over at Cas still sleeping soundly slumped against the door. Dean reaches over and carefully depresses the lock. Just in case. Then he looks back at Claire who’s waiting expectantly in the backseat, just a glimmer of worry in her gaze.

“He was looking for you, Claire,” Dean tells her softly. Claire’s stare drops to her lap.

“Oh.”

Dean shifts uncomfortably. He knows he’s gotta explain to her, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

“You know he loves you, right?”

Claire says nothing and Dean sighs.

“He loves you,” he states, plain as day. “He’s not very good at… well, anything social. He’s awkward and dorky and he doesn’t get pop culture references, but…” Dean crinkles his nose as he thinks. How does one describe Cas’s unique brand of affection?

“He uh, he notices things. Like when you don’t get enough sleep, he’ll suggest a movie night instead of going out to the bar. Or if you’ve got a headache suddenly there’s a bottle of water and some ibuprofen sitting out even though you didn’t say anything. He’ll always order onions on his burger just to pick them off because he knows you like having extra on yours, even if he doesn’t like the smell of your breath afterward. He just… I mean, he doesn’t say it but he still says it, you know?”

Claire’s quiet for a long minute and Dean’s too chicken shit to look back at her despite feeling her stare boring into the back of his head. Instead, he hunches over the steering wheel and pays extra attention to the dotted yellow line going down the middle of the road and tries to pretend that he didn’t just spew out a ton of personal shit to a teenager. She’s Cas’s kid, but still.

“Okay,” she finally says and Dean can breathe again. She’s quiet for a long time before Dean glances up in the rearview. She’s already looking back and he has to make a conscious effort to not flinch. He looks back towards the road, the atmosphere in the car heavy and awkward.

“You must love my dad a lot to stick with him even though he’s suddenly got a teenager.”

Dean’s eyes go wide and flick up to look back at Claire without his consent. She stares back with false innocence.

“No! I mean- maybe, I don’t know. You don’t- You can’t just- Shut up,” Dean stutters. Claire smirks and plucks her headphones out of her bag.

“He loves you, too,” she says just before settling them over her ears and picking up her mp3 player, leaving Dean alone with his thoughts.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

They finally stop in a town just outside of Kansas City. They’ve got enough money left for two nights in the motel, but that’s it. Luckily, they still have bread, peanut butter, and gas so they can get through until they get work and get paid. Just to be on the safe side, Dean hits the bar to hustle some pool after dropping off Cas and Claire at the motel. He only makes a hundred bucks, but it’s better than what he went in with so he’s not going to complain.

That night no one seems to sleep well. The air conditioner craps out around one and the room gets steadily stuffier as the night wears on. It certainly doesn’t help that there’s only two beds and Cas and Dean agreed that sleeping together with Claire in the room would be weird, so Dean’s stuck on the lumpy couch that’s nowhere near long enough to fit all six plus feet of him, no matter how he tries to curl up. Shortly after three he gives up and roughs it on the floor, weird smell be damned. He’s too exhausted to care anymore.

Morning comes and brings with it an overcast sky and a heat index of 106. Dean would prefer rain.

“This fucking sucks,” Dean grumbles. It’s barely seven and he hasn’t even left the room yet, but he can already feel the gross sticky Midwest heat seeping through the cracks of the room.

“Language,” Cas mumbles distractedly from where he sits at a wobbly table hunched over yesterday’s paperwork. Dean shoots him a look. First of all, Claire’s not even paying attention. She’s reclined back on her bed with her headphones on and a book in front of her nose.

“Seriously?” Dean asks his foul mood running his mouth before he can think things through. And secondly... “You know she’s a high schooler right? She probably hears worse in gym class. She’s not a kindergartener anymore.”

Cas stiffens across the room and Dean’s stomach drops. Shit. That was stupid stupid stupid. Tactless. God, he’s so stupid. Shit.

“I’m aware,” Cas replies softly, hunching even further over the table if that’s possible.

“Cas, shi- uh shoot, man. I didn’t mean-,”

“I know, Dean,” Cas interrupts quietly, but he still won’t look at Dean. His eyes are fixed in place, staring at the print under his nose without taking any of it in. “Weren’t you going to go talk to the manager about fixing the air conditioning unit?”

Dean purses his lips. He’s not dumb. He knows that Cas just wants him gone, but he doesn’t want Cas to just sit there feeling like shit because of Dean.

“Cas, I-,”

“Just go, Dean.”

Dean flinches back like the words are a physical slap. Cas still won’t look at him.

“Okay.”

Dean grabs his boots and stuffs his feet in them without bothering to lace them up before fleeing out the door.

“Dammit,” he hisses to himself and resists the urge to kick something. “Dammit.”

The talk with the manager goes fine. Dean manages to wrangle a free night’s stay in return for fixing the AC. It’s not great. Not like some cash would be, but it’s better than nothing. He’s still not entirely sure what kind of work this town will have. They didn’t pass any construction projects on their way in and the manager doesn’t have any suggestions. Dean wonders if he’s going to have to resort to dragging out the hedge clippers to go door to door offering landscaping services in this fucking heat.

It would be the flies on this shit pile of a day. An idea strikes Dean at the sight of the manager sitting down behind the ancient desktop computer as Dean heads out into the oppressive muggy morning. They passed a library on the way into town. It was a dumpy little thing, but it’s got to have computers up and running for the public to use. It’s only a few minutes away.

Dean fingers the keys in his pocket and debates going in to tell Cas his plan. In the end, he slides into the Impala without bothering him. He asked for some space from Dean and that’s something Dean can give him, no problem. He won’t be gone long anyway. It’ll be fine.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

The library looks pretty much exactly how Dean imagined it would. Dusty, cramped, and deserted save one librarian and a few kids who’d rather spend their summer break surrounded by smelly old books than at home. Dean knows the type. Sammy was one of those and therefore Dean was by default. He couldn’t just leave his brother alone at the library all the time, so he spent a lot more time surrounded by the books than he felt was healthy, but it made Sam happy so Dean never complained too seriously.

The library is set up just about the same way as all the other libraries in small towns are so Dean manages to wander straight to the computer section. Unfortunately, they’re all occupied. All three of them. Dean blows out a sharp breath and settles in at a table. This is going to take longer than he’d thought. He reaches for his pocket to text Cas what’s going on and realizes he left his phone back in the room on the charger. Dammit.

An hour later, Dean is stomping out the door with a scrap of paper with two addresses scrawled on it in his pocket. Thank fuck for Craigslist. Changing out a million light bulbs isn’t going to be the most fun or rewarding job, but it’ll pay well enough and the security gig Dean picked up for the next couple nights is going to set them up pretty good. Who needs sleep anyway?

Dean parks in front of the motel and turns off the engine but doesn’t move to get out of the Impala. He’s hoping he’s given Cas enough time to… feel better? To forgive Dean? Cool off? Anyway, he hopes he’s given Cas enough time. It’s gotta help his case that he’s coming back bearing a means to money at least.

Dean takes a deep breath and exits the car. If Cas wants to kick him out again he’s always got that option. As soon as he opens the motel door he starts talking. He can’t bring himself to look Cas in the eye quite yet so he focuses on his keys in his hand.

“So, uh, the manager’s gonna let us stay a night for free after we fix the AC and uh, then I found us a couple jobs. There wasn’t a lot, so they’re not great, but they’re-,”

Dean cuts himself off at the sound of a wet sniff coming from across the room and looks up. Cas is nowhere in sight and it’s just Claire, still sitting on her bed, her eyes red-rimmed and the tip of her nose a bit pink.

“Claire? What happened? Are you okay? Where’s Cas?”

Dean's feet have him across the room before he even realizes that he told them to move. As soon as he’s within reaching distance, Claire throws her arms around Dean’s middle and clings on tight. Dean freezes just for a second before getting with the program and wrapping his arms around her back.

“What’s wrong? Where’s Cas?” Dean asks again, panic clawing at his insides. Cas wouldn’t leave, would he? Not without Claire. Dean didn’t fuck up that bad, did he?

“We thought you left.”

Dean’s gut sinks like a stone in a pond. Fuck. It’s his fault.

“I didn’t- I just went to the library. I didn’t think…”

“We tried calling. Your phone was off. He thought you turned it off because you didn’t want to talk to him,” Claire mumbles into Dean’s shirt. Dean closes his eyes, his expression convoluted into a pained grimace. Fuck. He just can’t do anything right.

“It’s here. It’s on the charger. I forgot it.”

Claire pulls back and looks over at the nightstand where Dean set his phone last night. It’s not there. Dean frowns and squats down beside it and follows the cord from the wall to where it connects to his phone that somehow got knocked behind the small stand during the night. Someone up there must truly hate him.

Claire watches silently as Dean hits the red end button and waits for the device to power on.

“He left to look for you.”

Dean nods, guilt heaping into great towering piles behind his ribs. Of course, he did. Dean would expect nothing less from Cas. Missed calls and texts start pinging across the screen rapid fire.

“Fuck. Uh, I mean fudge,” Dean corrects with an unsure glance at Claire who just rolls her eyes, looking more like her old self by the second.

“You know I go to public school right?”

Dean sighs.

“Yeah.”

Finally, the missed message notifications stop long enough that Dean can start a call to Cas. It only gets through half a ring before Cas answers sounding out of breath.

“Dean?”

“Hey, Cas.”

“Dean. Please come back. I didn’t-,”

“Cas, Cas, stop. I’m at the motel with Claire right now.”

“Oh,” Cas sounds surprised. “You came back.”

“Cas, buddy, I never left. I just…” Dean runs a hand through his hair. “I went to the library to use their computer to check Craigslist for jobs. I wouldn’t run out on you like that.”

“Oh,” Cas says again.

“Where are you? I’ll come pick you up.”

Cas rattles off the name of a bar and an address. Dean doesn’t need the address, it’s the same bar he hustled pool at last night.

“We’ll be there in five.”

Dean hangs up and turns to Claire.

“Alright, kiddo. Get your shoes. We’ve gotta go get your dad.”

“I’m going?” Claire asks and Dean stops with his phone midway into his pocket to frown at her.

“Well, yeah. I can’t just leave you here all alone, can I? Unless I mean, do you not want to come?” Dean suppresses the urge to fidget. How did a teenage girl’s good opinion of him become so vital?

“No, I’ll go,” Claire says quickly. “I just didn’t think you’d want me to.”

“Why wouldn’t I want you to?”

Claire just shrugs and pads across the room to slip on a pair of those cheap Walmart flip-flops. There are craters where her heels rest and a dirty foot silhouette marring the blue plastic. Dean makes a mental note to pick her up a new pair.

Dean doesn’t press her for an answer and instead, they make their way back out to the Impala. Dean cranks the air conditioning up to its highest setting. Cas is probably roasting, doubly so if he wore that coat of his and there’s a chance he might have, depending on how upset he was.

Dean starts to drive. Claire is looking better, Dean notices after a quick glance at her in the passenger seat. The red around her eyes has faded to a barely noticeable pink and her nose isn’t pink at all anymore.

“Why were you…?” Dean trails off, unsure of how to ask without making her self-conscious.

“Crying?” Claire finishes for him caustically. Dean pulls a face and nods.

“I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with crying,” Dean hastily interjects. “I just… I didn’t get the vibe that, you know, you’d care too much if I left. I mean, you’d still get your dad, right? So, I… I don’t know.”

Dean kind of wants to kick himself. He sounds like a moron.

“I’d care,” Claire says quietly. “I don’t really know you, clearly, but it’s pretty obvious that you make my dad happy and I… I don’t want to…” Claire trails off with a shake of her head before she stares determinedly out the window.

“You know,” Dean starts after a stretch of silence, “what happened between your parents wasn’t your fault right?”

Claire says nothing and when Dean glances over she’s still staring out the window now with her jaw clenched hard. Dean sighs silently. He is  _ so _ the wrong person to be having this talk with her.

“Okay, look,” he starts, watching the road carefully as he speaks, “I know you’re not gonna believe it just ‘cause I say so, but what happened with your parents was not your fault. That was your mom going nuts and using you to hurt your dad. It’s shi- uh,  _ crappy _ and it sucks, but it’s the truth. And I’m sorry if me saying that about your mom, you know, hurts your feelings, but that’s how it is. There was nothing you could have done differently to change things because it wasn’t your fault. It was all between your mom and Cas and you just got unlucky enough to get caught in the middle.”

Claire stays silent so Dean risks a glance over. She’s turned away from him still, face pointed towards the window, but Dean can see enough to see her jaw isn’t clenched quite as hard and her eyes are a bit glassy. Guilt pangs at his core and he hopes he didn’t make her hate him.

Shit. She hates him.

Dean keeps his mouth shut for the rest of the drive and within minutes they’re pulling into a nearly empty parking lot, with only Cas standing awkwardly in front of the closed sign hanging in the window. Cas sees them coming and strides over to the driver side of the car before they’re even in park, his dumb coat billowing behind him. Dean hesitates for a second, confused. Does Cas want to drive? Did Dean freak him out so much that Cas needs to be sure that Dean won’t be able to leave without him?

“Dean.”

Cas’s voice is muffled through the closed door, but his desire is clear. Dean peeks at Claire, but only receives an impatient raised eyebrow in lieu of advice. Dean opens the door and steps out and is assaulted before he can even straighten up. Cas throws his arms around Dean’s neck and reels him in close. Dean wraps his arms around Cas’s waist on autopilot, thrown off by the unexpected affection.

“I’m sorry,” Dean murmurs into Cas’s hair. “I wasn’t leaving. I’m sorry.”

Cas lets out a shaky breath and relaxes a bit into Dean’s embrace. Dean holds him tighter and continues babbling his explanation.

“I just… You were pissed at me so I thought I’d give you some space. I know I’m not easy to live with so I figured-,”

“Dean, I wasn’t angry,” Cas interrupts. “I was… upset at the reminder of how much of Claire’s life I’ve missed, but I wasn’t angry with you.”

“Well, it was still a shi-  _ crappy _ thing for me to say and I wouldn’t blame you if you were pissed at me.”

Cas picks his head up from where he’d been smothering his face into Dean’s shoulder and squints at Dean.

“Did you just say crappy?”

Dean huffs a pathetic little laugh.

“Uh, yeah. I did. I know you don’t like the cursing so I’m working on it. It’s gonna take a while though and I-,”

Cas surges forward and mashes his lips to Dean’s, nearly knocking Dean back into the car with the enthusiasm of it.

“I am  _ right here! _ ” Claire’s voice breaks through the moment before Dean can do much kissing in return. Cas pulls back, his cheeks pink and his eyes cast downward and does a sort of weird shrug before shuffling over to the passenger side of the car. Dean watches him go with a bemused half-smile and slides into his own seat.

Claire studiously avoids looking at both of them the whole way back to the motel, which is fine because it seems like Cas is doing the same from the back seat and Dean is content to just listen to his cassettes and not have to suffer through any awkward forced conversation. Dean pulls into the parking spot outside their motel room and removes the key from the ignition, leaving nothing to stave off the silence.

Dean shifts in his seat and clears his throat.

“So I uh, got us a job,” he starts out, flashing Cas a strained grin. Cas blinks in response. “Two for me actually. First one they want us there tomorrow. It’s just switching out light bulbs for those fancy LED ones at the high school over on 5th. It should take a couple days to wrap that up and then uh, I got a gig doing security a couple nights starting tonight for a concert so I’m gonna do that. That leaves us stuck here for at least two more days before we can hightail it outta here so I hope that’s okay. I know I didn’t really-,”

“Dean, it’s alright,” Cas interrupts. “I’m… That sounds acceptable. How many hours a day is the renovation?”

Dean releases a pent-up breath.

“The guy I talked to estimated the job would take like 19 hours total, so like ten hours day one and nine for day two.”

Cas nods with a frown.

“And what hours have you agreed to work for the security position?”

Dean pulls a face and shrugs.

“Nothing I can’t handle. You know me, just need my four hours a night and I’m good to go.” Dean grins. Cas isn’t fooled and his frown deepens.

“Dean. What are the hours?” he insists.

Dean’s face twists into a grimace and he stares out the windshield at the tarnished metal twelve fixed to the room directly opposite them.

“Seven to three, but seriously Cas,” Dean keeps talking over Cas’s long-suffering sigh, “All I need is a good four hours and I-,”

“Dean,” Cas says and Dean trails off. “You know I dislike it when you work yourself too hard.”

“It’s only two nights. I’ll be fine. Seriously.”

Cas and Dean lock gazes in the rearview mirror and Dean will be damned if he looks away first. Cas breaks the connection.

“We will see.”

Dean rolls his eyes. He’ll be fine. It’s hardly the first time he’s worked a few more hours than the doctor recommends. It’s always worked out before.

“What exactly am I supposed to be doing while you guys are out playing Handy Manny?” Claire pitches in.

“Oh!” Dean says. “I, uh, actually looked up some stuff. I don’t really know what you like and there’s not really a lot in this town, but I got some addresses. There’s a roller rink and an art museum that’s probably shit, but that’s what we get for stopping in a podunk little town like this, you know?”

Dean meets Claire’s eyes. She seems confused.

“What?” Dean asks, a bit self-conscious. It’s not the greatest stuff for a teenager to do, but it beats the hell out of sitting around in a smelly motel room by yourself.

“Nothing,” Claire mumbles.

Dean raises an eyebrow. Bullshit it’s nothing, but he lets it go.  _ Teenagers _ .

“Alright, well I’ve got that gig tonight so I’m gonna get started fixing that AC. Oh yeah. The manager said he’ll give us a night for free if we can fix it. It didn’t look all that complicated so I’m not worried.”

“Of course,” Cas agrees.

They all pile out of the Impala, Cas going straight for the motel room while Dean heads for the trunk to retrieve his tools. He’s met there by Claire who unceremoniously throws her arms around him in a hard hug. 

“Thanks, Dean,” she all but whispers and then she’s running off before Dean can even ask her what the hell she’s even thanking him for. He stands there until she darts into the motel room after Cas and the door swings shut behind her.

Huh. Maybe she doesn’t hate him after all.


	8. Chapter Eight

The next two days pass by in something of a fog for Dean. That first night he does his security gig and it’s fine. He escorts out a few disorderlies and otherwise just lurks around the entrance making sure no one tries to sneak in. It’s boring, but he’s getting paid the big bucks for it so he’s not exactly gonna complain.

After that, he catches a good three or so hours of sleep before Cas is shaking him awake and shoving a breakfast sandwich in his face. They drop Claire off at the art museum with $20, a notebook, and Cas’s cell phone if she needs anything. Work drags by after that. It’s all overhead work so by the end of the day Dean’s arms are killing him and his shoulders are on fire. He can tell by the way Cas is trying not to lift his arms anywhere above waist high that he’s feeling about the same.

They get Claire and head back to the motel with tacos. Dean scarfs down three and then passes out on one of the beds. His alarm goes off not even two hours later and he drags himself out of bed to stuff his feet in his boots and avoids Cas’s concerned stare.

That night he has to break up a fight and gets a split lip and some bruised ribs for his troubles. The next day is hell. Dean aches all over and his head throbs from lack of sleep and getting knocked around the night before.

Cas isn’t speaking to him. He’s pissed that Dean didn’t listen to him when he told Dean that working both jobs was a bad idea and now Dean is hurt because of it. He’s convinced that Dean only got hurt so bad because he wasn’t at full strength thanks to not getting any sleep. Dean didn’t really have a comeback for that so he kept his mouth shut.

Cas must have decided to do the same because he doesn’t say a word to Dean all day. He doesn’t say a word when the workday is finally over and they get to the Impala only for Cas to approach the driver door and hold his hand out for the keys expectantly. He says nothing to Dean when they pick up Claire from the art museum once again, only asking her how her day was and if she enjoyed it as much the second day.

He doesn’t even ask for Dean’s opinion on what to have for dinner; instead, he leaves the decision entirely up to Claire, who then chooses Chinese. They get to the motel with the intentions of ordering in and it’s Claire who says to Dean, “Hey Dean, maybe you should go lay down. You don’t look so good.”

Instead of arguing or putting up a front Dean only replies, “Yeah, okay.”

Cas looks at him then, the concern that’s been hidden away under the simmer of irritation showing through. Perhaps Cas opens his mouth to say something, perhaps not. All Dean knows is that as soon as he’s horizontal and his eyes close everything fades to black.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

Dean comes to slowly and with great effort. It’s like wading through jello. Even as he becomes aware of his surroundings, he can’t quite force his eyes to open. Instead, he takes in the silence of the room. The only thing he hears is the rattle of the air conditioning unit and the occasional rustle of paper. It doesn’t really help him pin down the time. He feels like he’s been asleep for eons.

Finally, his eyelids crack open just enough to let in a blinding amount of light. Dean groans and rolls onto his stomach to bury his face in his pillow and hopefully suffocate. His arms weigh forty pounds each when he lifts them to cushion his cheek beneath the pillow.

“It’s been fourteen hours,” Cas’s voice filters through the thick cotton clogging Dean’s head and Dean groans again. “I was going to wake you in another hour if you didn’t manage it on your own.”

Dean grumbles inarticulately into the pillow, but somehow Cas understands.

“Claire tried to wake you last night before she went to bed. I believe she hoped you would eat something before going back to sleep. You woke up just enough to tell her to fuck off before you were unconscious once more.”

Dean winces and presses his face more firmly into the pillow, circling back to the suffocation goal. He doesn’t have to hear Cas’s dry tone to know how unimpressed he is with Dean right now. Frankly, he wouldn’t mind much if the bed just swallowed him whole and he never had to face Cas or Claire ever again, or leave the warm covers.

He’s betrayed by his stomach. It lets out a ravenous growl, reminding him that he hasn’t eaten anything since lunch the day before.

“Claire is getting breakfast now.”

It takes a minute for Dean’s brain to soak in those words and suss out why they send a thread of panic through him. When he does figure it out, he flies into a sitting position in a burst of motion that sends his head spinning and has his vision spotting over.

“In my car?!” he yelps in the general direction Cas’s voice has been coming from as he blinks rapidly, willing the dark spots away. They finally fade just in time for Dean to take in the critical stare Cas has aimed at him from where he looks rumpled and sleep-deprived at the small table across the room, that damn paperwork sitting in front of him again.

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel begins acidly. “I allowed the 15-year-old to drive an unfamiliar vehicle alone because I am a completely incompetent adult and caretaker and on top of that I let her take your most prized possession because I am not only completely incompetent but stupid as well.”

Dean hesitates. “Right. So, I’m getting the feeling she didn’t take my car?”

“She walked across the street to Burger King.”

“Ah.”

Cas purses his lips and goes back to that damned paperwork and Dean feels like an ass; a big hairy donkey ass. An ass’s ass.

“Cas, I-,”

The motel room door swings open and spits out Claire bearing two grease soaked fast food bags and a drink carrier and successfully cutting across what was probably going to be an embarrassing, rambling apology.

“Good, you’re alive,” she chirps as she kicks the door shut behind her and toes off her ratty flip-flops. The door rattles in its frame and Dean’s brain rattles along with it, bringing a sudden headache to his attention.

“Large coffee, black,” Claire says and presses a hot paper cup into his fist.

“You’re a saint,” Dean murmurs and pops the lid off to breathe in the steam wisping away from the dark, too hot to drink liquid.

“Don’t thank me. Cas made your order.” Claire shrugs and Dean buries a wince as he looks up at Cas through his eyelashes. Cas steadily avoids eye contact and instead accepts the ham and cheese croissant sandwich (like hell Dean’s calling it a croissant-wich) and hash browns that Claire hands him. He then gets up and leaves the room to go fetch the ketchup bottle from the cooler in the Impala. The door clicks shut behind him and Claire whirls around to fix Dean with a stern look.

Dean grimaces. “I pissed him off,” he explains without explaining. Claire rolls her eyes.

“No, he’s worried about you, moron.”

“What?”

But Cas re-enters the room then and Dean never does get to find out what she means. Instead, she shoves a bag in his hands and gives him a significant look that Dean takes to mean, ‘ _ apologize you nincompoop _ ’. He will… just… later. His stomach growls again and he appeases it by shoving a handful of little circle hash browns down his throat. The rest of the bag’s contents quickly follow.

The coffee soothes his headache and shoos away the last clinging dregs of sleep, making it impossible to ignore the fact that Cas is quite clearly avoiding him. And Claire’s pointed looks in his direction have become so frequent they appear to be one prolonged sour expression. God, Dean is ruining this family before they’ve even gotten started putting it together. He wishes he was surprised.

Cas is the one to suggest they check out of the motel and get on the road. None of them suggest a destination, so Dean gets behind the wheel and heads west, the roads becoming more familiar the farther he goes. No one comments or asks questions until half an hour later.

“Are we going somewhere specific this time?”

Claire is the one to ask from the back, skewing her headphones to the side as she does. Cas doesn’t turn from his window-side vigil of the cornfield they’re passing. Dean drums his fingers on the steering wheel and clears his throat nervously. It’s enough to get Cas’s attention. He doesn’t fully face Dean, but he stares out the windshield and it’s the first time he’s turned away from his window since he got in so Dean considers it an improvement.

“I uh, did have somewhere in mind,” he says. “If you guys don’t like it, I mean, that’s cool. I figured we’d just scope the place out and see what happens. If you guys aren’t feelin’ it then we just ramble on to the next town, right?”

“Sure,” Claire agrees easily, like Dean’s heart isn’t about to beat out of his chest and his palms aren’t sweating. She returns her headphones to cover her ears and flips the page in her sketchbook. Cas doesn’t meet Dean’s gaze, he doesn’t look away from the scenery, but he sits still and straight like he knows something is coming.

Dean knows when Cas sees the first Lawrence road sign only a few minutes later because he does a double take and then finally,  _ finally _ , looks over at Dean. Dean’s too much of a coward to look back so instead he tightens his grip on the wheel and makes a conscious effort not to hunch his shoulders as Cas continues to stare.

After ten minutes they’re within town limits and Cas finally looks away from staring a hole in the side of Dean’s head and goes back to looking out the window, now with interest, rather than to avoid interaction with Dean. They roll past a little strip mall and a QuikTrip and Dean tries to suppress the memories rising up, but it’s no use. That’s the QuikTrip Dean picked Sam up from the second time he ran away. The strip mall is the one that Dean was dragged to by an old high school girlfriend to look for a mother’s day gift for her mom and then lost his virginity to in the parking lot. The little sno cone shop Dean took Sam to for his ninth birthday is gone, but the arcade they spent countless afternoons in is still there, a little worse for wear, but there.

There’s the bar dad used to frequent before it became the first to blacklist him after a nasty brawl and the library that Dean swore he was going to waste away in during all those summers Sam dragged him there before he was old enough to go alone. Dean very carefully skips his eyes past the street that would take him down to The Roadhouse, the only place him and Sam spent more time in than the library. He can’t quite bring himself to consider how Bobby, Jo, Ellen, and Charlie will react after he up and ran without a word. He’ll probably walk away with a black eye and that’s assuming they even give a shit about him anymore. They probably wrote him off months and months ago.

He looks instead to the high school that he tolerated until he didn’t anymore and thinks that Claire might also attend (hopefully more regularly than Dean ever did) should they deem the town good enough. Dean drags his gaze away from his hometown to the car’s occupants at the reminder. Cas is staring at him again so Dean looks up in the rearview mirror rather than face him. Claire’s eyes linger on the high school as the drive past and then flit to the other side of the street to the old pizza tavern that Dean probably spent more time in than class when he actually showed up.

“Whadda think?” Dean asks, stomping down on old memories. They can make new ones. Better ones, he hopes.

Claire glances up at him and shrugs, a small frown on her lips.

“It’s fine. Just like any other town, right? If we did move here, where would we live? Like an apartment? A house? I’m kinda done with motels, you know.”

Dean chews his lip and tries to speak as nonchalantly as possible.

“Actually, I uh, sort of own a house here already, so I kinda thought…” he breaks off with a shrug, letting the sentence hang in the air for Claire to do with as she wants.

“Can we see it?” she asks, and though she fights it, Dean can see the way her face lights up with something like hope. It makes a pit open up in his stomach. He’s never been good with hope.

“Yeah, ‘course,” he says and makes a left.

The closer they get the harder it gets to pull in a full breath. His palms are slick now against the leather of the steering wheel and he alternately wipes them on his pants to dry them. As he brings his right hand back to the wheel Cas intercepts it to tangle their fingers together. Dean stares down at their hands for a brief moment before looking back to the road with a hard swallow. He can’t look at Cas right now, but he holds tightly to his hand.

When they get to be a few streets away from the old house, Dean begins to babble.

“So, just so you know, it’s kinda a small place. Nothing special. And it uh, it probably needs some work. Like, a lot of work. It’s probably gross. ‘S far as I know, no one’s touched it in almost two years, so it probably looks like shit and-,”

“We will keep an open mind, Dean,” Cas interrupts, accompanied by a warm squeeze of his hand. Dean sucks in a sharp breath and nods as he pulls onto his old street and his mom’s house comes into view. His throat closes up as they get closer and he takes in the peeling yellow paint and the boarded over living room window. He pays so little attention to the road, it’s only the last few years of nothing but driving that get him parked neatly against the curb rather than through the front wall of the neighbor’s living room.

“This is it,” he says. His voice cracks and he clears it. “You guys go check it out. I’ll just… wait here.”

He can feel Cas frowning at the side of his face, but he doesn’t dare look at him for fear of what will come out of his mouth. At worst it’ll be an unintelligible wailing.

“Claire, would you like to start in the backyard?” Cas asks. “We’ll catch up to you.”

“Sure,” Claire mumbles and throws open the back door, slamming it behind her once she’s out. Dean winces but doesn’t shout after her to respect Baby like he usually would.

“Dean, what’s wrong?” Cas cuts right to the chase.

“Claire slammed the door,” Dean grumbles, beating around the bush out of habit more than any desire to avoid the inevitable conversation. Cas just sits there and waits patiently with that stupid look of quiet concern on his stupid face. Dean sighs and leans back to stare up at the ceiling.

“If you aren’t comfortable living here, then we can continue elsewhere. There is no need to make yourself uncomfortable.”

Dean shakes his head.

“It’s gonna be a mess in there,” he confesses roughly. “I don’t wanna go in there and see what a shithole I let my mom’s house fall into because I couldn’t hack it.”

“It’s not your fault, Dean.”

Dean snorts at Cas’s immediate response and turns to face him with a bitter smile.

“It’s my name on the deed, Cas. I’m the one who left without leaving someone to take care of it. There’s  _ no one else _ for the blame to fall on, man.”

“You needed to take care of yourself. Your well-being is more important than some house. Your mother would understand.”

“Don’t pretend to know shit about my mom, okay?” Dean says without heat. He just can’t summon up the energy to get angry.

“I only know what you’ve told me about her and what I know of mothers in general and from that, I know your mother would not blame you. She would care more for you than for a house. She would probably simply be glad that it’s still here to be a home for you after all these years.”

Dean’s throat is tight again and he can’t get any words out. He knows Cas is right. His mom was amazing. The problem is more that Dean failed to maintain the parameters he set to make sure he honored his mom’s memory. Parameter number one was Sam. Number two was keep the family together and number three was her house. He fucked up two out of the three. He knows letting it get further into ruin isn’t going to make the failure suddenly disappear, but, if he fixed it up and filled it with a family again, a real loving one, then maybe that might make up for it. It’s worth a shot.

“Let’s catch up to Claire.”

Cas doesn’t move at first but eventually follows when Dean opens his door and exits the car. They close up the Impala and get as far as the sidewalk when Dean hesitates again and comes to a stop.

“If you need to-,”

“It’s not that,” Dean interrupts Cas. “It’s just… I’m sorry.” Cas’s face flashes with surprise before it goes blank, leaving Dean to fumble blindly through the rest of his sad sorry apology. “I didn’t mean what I said back at the motel. I know you’re responsible and a good dad and you wouldn’t, you know, shit on the stuff I cherish or whatever.”

“And?”

Dean falters. And  _ what _ ? What else did he do wrong? Cas must see the confusion on his face because he sighs.

“I’m most upset that you don’t take care of yourself.”

“What?” Oh, right. Dean had forgotten that Cas wasn’t pleased about Dean taking on both jobs. Honestly, the past couple days are a blur with only a few moments that stand clearly in his memory. Cas becoming agitated about the back to back hours Dean was working was not one of them.

“You don’t take care of yourself. You seem to think of yourself as expendable and I don’t like it. I don’t want you taking on that many hours again and I want you to take care of yourself just as you would for Sam, or Claire, or me. No more of this sacrificing yourself for the perceived good of the group. I won’t stand for it again.”

Cas is hard and unyielding and it takes Dean by surprise. The only one who’s ever stood up to Dean about the way he does things is Sam and he’s always been easy for Dean to brush off, mostly because it’s for Sam that Dean does the things. But Cas is glaring and angry and hurt and Dean doesn’t like that one bit.

“Yeah, okay,” he agrees.

Cas squints at him.

“I mean it,” he says.

Dean rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, I know. I promise, alright? Can we get this over with now?”

Dean doesn’t wait for a response and starts striding towards the side gate leading to the backyard where Claire disappeared to. He pushes the chain link gate open with an awful screech from the hinges and as he does Cas slips his hand into Dean’s once more and gives it a squeeze. Dean stops with the gate held open, but instead of stepping through he faces Cas and hesitates a moment before pressing their lips together gently.

Cas accepts the kiss and leans into it, letting Dean know that he’s forgiven for being an ass, even if he probably doesn’t deserve it. Slowly, Dean leans back, breaking the kiss, and together they step through the gate. Dean grimaces at the state of the yard, but all considering it’s not that bad. There’s hardly any grass, instead, it’s mostly creeping charlie coating the entire backyard with only patches of tall grass and taller weeds sprouting out of it.

Sam’s old swing set is still there, miraculously. It’s one of those old metal ones with two swings, a teeter-totter swing, and a shitty plastic slide. Claire is perched on one of the swings, slowly drifting back and forth as she stares up at the backside of the house. Dean follows her gaze and winces. The gutters are hanging off, no doubt weighed down with years’ worth of muck that eventually became too much for the old things to hold up. Even before he left, Dean doesn’t remember the last time he cleaned those out. The paint is peeling worse back here, probably because this side of the house faces east and therefore gets the most exposure to the sun.

The back porch is sagging to the left, hell if Dean knows why, and the screen door has a busted handle and is only hanging on by one hinge. Luckily, the door behind it appears to be intact, so hopefully they avoided a break in. They never had much, but it was theirs and Dean is going to hate himself even more if strangers desecrated his mom’s house. Or maybe it’s been home to squatters while he’s been gone.

At least all of the windows on this side are still intact.

“Do you have a key? It’s locked.”

Claire’s voice comes from right beside Dean and he only wonders for a second when she got there. He doesn’t even bother faking surprise that she tried to go in without them.

“Yeah.”

Dean fumbles for his key ring and pinches the only key on the ring aside from the Impala’s between his forefinger and thumb. Cas releases his hand as Dean steps up onto the listing porch and wriggles the key into the old lock. It takes some effort, but Dean gets it to turn and shoves open the door, releasing a tidal wave of hot humid air.

The door immediately knocks into something that sounds like empty bottles and Dean’s heart drops into his stomach. Someone’s been in here. Someone might still be in here.

“Claire, you should go wait in the car. Lock the doors,” Dean orders, tossing her his keys.

Claire catches the keys automatically but then hesitates.

“Claire, go,” Cas tells her, voice brooking no argument. Claire glares at him a bit, but even Dean can tell there’s no real heat behind it and, in the end, she does what they say so he’s not going to complain. She disappears through the gate and Dean turns to Cas.

“I don’t really want you coming in either,” Dean admits. Cas glares at him and Dean is suddenly reminded of their conversation only minutes ago.

“I am going with you.”

“Alright, fine. You be careful, okay?”

Cas nods. “You as well.”

“‘Course,” Dean grins and moves towards the door, but Cas stops him with a hand to his shoulder.

“You promise me that you will not throw yourself into danger even if you believe it will keep me safe,” Cas demands, his hand still tight over Dean’s shoulder and his eyes blazing in the hot afternoon sun. Dean drops his carefree demeanor and looks Cas in the eyes.

“Okay. I promise,” he lies.

Cas’s mouth pinches, but he drops his hand and squares up his shoulders.

“Let’s go,” he says, face set with a burning determination that Dean doesn’t understand. He nods in response and toes the door open wider before stepping inside.

It’s dark inside despite the sun being out. The filth covered windows probably have something to do with that. The air is thick and musty, Dean has to repress a sneeze while he waits for his eyes to adjust before going further. It’s also hot as hell. Sweat immediately begins to pickle along his spine. When his eyes do finally adjust, his stomach sours.

There are beer bottles and cans filling the sink and overflowing to the floor. Trash and red solo cups litter the table and counters and there are dozens of footprints stamped in the thick coating of dust covering the linoleum. Cupboards hang open, one of them only by a single hinge while another is crooked. They look picked clean save a can of cream of mushroom soup here, a half-filled bag of flour there.

Dean swallows thickly and turns away. He allowed this to happen. His mother’s kitchen. The once-yellow curtain that drapes over the window above the sink is now gray with dust and age.

A warm hand fits into his shoulder and gives him the strength to step out of the kitchen and into the short hallway dividing the kitchen from the living room and ending at the stairs that lead up to the bedrooms. The dust sticks to the bottoms of his boots and makes the floor slick. Dean shoots only the barest glance up the darkened staircase and then steps across into the living room.

It looks much the same as the kitchen, only with deep pits in the couch where foreign bodies have sat possibly for hours on end. Dust still blankets the room, save the most commonly used paths where footprints clear the way down to dull hardwood. The board over the window doesn’t let in any light at all, leaving the room in a kind of darkened anti-version of the space Dean remembers growing up in. The old box screen TV looks to have gotten a foot put through it at some point and from then on out it became utilized as a trash bin for cigarettes, beer cans, and used condoms. The sight of the condoms has Dean dreading the trip upstairs to the bedrooms.

There’s nothing left for it though. Dean and Cas turn back the way they came and head for the stairs. Just as Dean presses his foot onto the bottommost stair there’s a shuffling noise overhead. Dean and Cas freeze where they stand and trade looks. The noise happens again. Dean moves to storm up the stairs and kick the ass of whoever did this to his mom’s house, but before he can so much as lean towards the stairs, Cas is pulling him back and shaking his head firmly.

“Hello?” Cas calls instead. “Is someone up there?”

The noise stops immediately, but no one responds. Maybe it’s an animal? Not that that would be any better.

“We know someone is there and we kindly ask that you leave immediately. We wish for no trouble.”

There’s nothing for a moment and then…

“Why the hell should I listen to you?” a distinctly female voice yells back. Dean doesn’t give a flying fuck if it’s the Tooth Fairy herself if she doesn’t get lost in the next five seconds he’s going to flip his shit.

“Because I own this goddamn shithole,” he snaps. “And sooner or later my buddy here is going to get tired of holding me back and I’m going to beat the ever-loving fuck out of you. Capisce?”

“Dean,” Cas admonishes him, but Dean only has ears for the sudden flurry of movement above. It better mean that whoever is up there took his threat seriously and is getting their shit together to get the fuck out, because Dean wasn’t lying. Not even close.

So when a small figure in dirty, too big jeans and a frayed black zip-up comes stomping out of  _ Sam’s _ old room and down the stairs with a bag on her back and her hood up over her head, Dean grabs her without thinking.

“What the fuck do you-,”

“ _ Dean! _ ”

Cas pulls him back, but the damage is already done. The girl’s hood falls back as she tries to yank away and Dean gets an eye full of dark hair, dark eyes and pale skin. Dean releases her immediately and the girl- because that’s what she is- hardly older than Claire, takes off. She sprints out the back door and across the yard and jumps the back fence and is out of sight.

“Holy shit.”

“Dean—,”

“She was… She was just a kid. We should’ve… We should’ve…  _ Shit _ .”

“Yes.”

Dean turns to face Cas, his eyes wide as he meets his grave stare.

“What do we do? Do we call the cops? She was just a kid.”

“I… I’m not sure,” Cas says, a deep frown marring his face. Dean rubs the back of his neck and paces a bit in the small area of space between Cas and the kitchen doorway.

“Alright,” Dean says after a short minute. He wipes his hands down the thighs of his jeans. “Okay, you go get Claire and let her know what’s going on. I’m going to go check upstairs and make sure no one else is hiding up there or there’s nothing, you know, dangerous, and then we’ll call the cops.”

Cas nods and Dean turns to head up the stairs, but Cas’s hand catches his elbow and stops him. Dean turns back and Cas is right there, hand still holding Dean by the elbow and his lips suddenly pressing against Dean’s. Cas pulls back before Dean can return the kiss, but he stays close.

“We’ll wait for you at the Impala. If you need me just call.”

Dean nods and Cas kisses him once more, slow and lingering this time, allowing Dean to kiss back. Cas pulls away and gives Dean’s elbow an encouraging squeeze before heading back through the kitchen and out into the sunlight.

Dean doesn’t watch him go. Instead, he turns to the staircase and begins the journey up. It’s not as bad as downstairs. There are more condoms, but less general party debris and about the same amount of dust. Still, Dean will be throwing out all of the bedcovers and wearing gloves while he cleans and there will be bleach. Lots and lots of bleach.

He saves Sam’s room for last even though it’s the first door on the left and he’s surprised by what he finds. It looks like the girl has been staying here for a little while, or planning to long enough that she cleaned up at least. There’s hardly any dust compared to the rest of the house and the bedcovers look clean and there’s trash in the garbage can rather than on the floor. Actually, the floor is completely clear and Sam’s old desk is organized like it was when Sam still lived here. Back before dad swept his arm across it, knocking all of Sam’s books and pens that he didn’t take with him to the floor.

Dean perches gingerly on the edge of the bed, feeling even shittier than he did downstairs. Who knows what kind of trouble that girl was running away from and Dean just kicked her out of the only safe haven she probably has. Dean knows a thing or two about home life not living up to everything you see on TV and he can’t exactly bring himself to pretend that she was some stuck-up kid who ran away from a loving home. Kids don’t do that. If they do, they definitely don’t stay away once they’ve seen what life is like on the streets.

Hell, Sam had a shitty home life and  _ still _ chose to come back to it rather than stay out there and he wasn’t a young pretty girl surrounded by creeps. If that doesn’t communicate how awful being a homeless teenager is, then Dean doesn’t know what does.

Dean sighs and scrubs a hand over his face roughly. There’s no point in dragging it out any longer. He gets to his feet and places the call to the police on his way back outside. The front door is unlocked, the handle completely busted and it sticks when he tries to open it, but a hard shove fixes that and then he’s out, striding down the cracked walkway towards the Impala where Cas and Claire are standing in wait. He doesn’t bother closing the door behind him.


	9. Chapter Nine

The police arrive shortly after and make a spectacle of searching the house and taking down Dean’s description of the girl while standing out on the sidewalk in plain view of the entire street. Dean catches glimpses of neighbors peeking through their curtains at them and grinds his teeth together as he tries to ignore them. This wasn’t the way he envisioned their fresh start.

Dean blanches when one of the officers comes back out of the house to get a sharps container from their cruiser. Someone has been shooting up in his mom’s house. He feels sick.

Finally, the police finish their search and drive off, leaving Dean wrung out and dejected. He turns to Cas and Claire who are hanging back by the Impala to stay out of the way. They don’t say anything but have nearly identical looks of concern on their faces that make it impossible not to see the family resemblance.

“So,” Dean starts and then sighs and runs a hand through his hair roughly. “I guess we can get a motel and then tomorrow… well, it’s up to you guys. My idea kinda tanked so...”

“Wait,” Claire says. “You mean we’re not going to live here?”

Dean frowns and glances up at Cas, but he’s about as impressed with Dean as Claire is.

“I uh, didn’t think you’d want to?” he replies. “I know you didn’t really get a good look around, but-,”

“Cas said you grew up here,” Claire interrupts forcefully. Dean blinks at her and then at Cas who shrugs.

“Well, yeah, but-,”

“Then we stay,” Claire commands. “You already expected it to be a mess, so I don’t know what the deal breaker here is. You’ve got a house. We need a place to live. I say we live here.”

“But…” Dean trails off, casting another pleading look at Cas, but he gets nothing in return. He’s too busy looking at Claire with a sickeningly proud look on his face. Dean doesn’t want to say the look melts him, but his resistance is suddenly gone. He sighs. He still doesn’t have to say it.

“Alright fine, but we still need a motel for the night,” Dean says, “and we probably won’t get the warmest welcome from the neighbors since we haven’t even moved in yet and the police have already paid a visit.”

Claire shrugs like she couldn’t care less and Cas smiles at Dean. Dean rolls his eyes at the both of them.

He grumbles, “Mrs. Tibbetts never liked me anyway.” He shoots a dirty look at the house across the street and the curtains over the front window sway. Dean narrows his eyes. “Nosy old hag.”

“Dean be nice to the neighbors,” Cas chastises him. Dean opens his mouth to argue, but then sees Cas’s playful smirk and an almost gleeful sparkle in his eye. Cas is going to have neighbors again.

“I’ll have you know she threatened me with a frying pan once. _A_ _frying pan_! Who does that?”

“I’m sure she had good reason,” Cas says without an ounce of concern. Dean scoffs.

“Okay, so maybe I was trying to steal some tomatoes out of her garden, but Sammy was sick and and all we were missing for tomato rice soup was the tomatoes. What else was I supposed to do?”

“Knock and ask nicely?” Claire chimes in.

“No one asked you,” Dean says, pointing a finger at her. Claire calmly raises an eyebrow and moves to get into the back of the car.

“Don’t we have stuff to do?” she asks, pulling the door open. “The house isn’t going to fix itself.”

Damn straight it’s not. They’ve got a hell of a chore ahead of them.

.

~*~

.

In the two days they’ve been in Lawrence, Dean has only been two places: his mom’s house and the shitty little motel five minutes away. He hasn’t yet been able to stomach going anywhere else. What if he recognizes someone? What if someone recognizes  _ him _ ? Cas and Claire have been more than happy to take Dean’s list on the supply runs and familiarize themselves with the town while Dean stays back and “assesses the damage”. Really he spends most of the time they’re gone convincing the water and electric companies to turn their shit back on.

The first list he made for them included the basics like trash bags, gloves, bleach, rags, broom, mop, bucket, deodorant, and flip-flops for Claire underlined twice. He was pretty pleased with himself when they returned an hour later and Claire was wearing a brand new pair of emerald green flip flops with the ratty old blue ones nowhere to be found. And Cas had even picked Dean’s favorite Degree deodorant, none of the Old Spice bullshit.

He considers the outing a success and therefore thinks nothing of it as he drafts up list number two requesting more technical items such as 6 door hinges (front and back), two cupboard hinges, paint scraper, rollers and brushes, outdoor house paint (anything except  _ beige _ ), and some friggin’ tacos.

When Cas and Claire return this time it’s with some electronic contraption Claire keeps calling a  _ Paint Eater _ instead of a plain and simple  _ scraper _ , several cans of non-returnable green bullshit Cas thinks he’s going to put on the outside of the house where  _ people can see it _ , and fucking Chinese food. They didn’t even have the courtesy to get some fucking plastic forks. Not everyone can pick up chopsticks like they were raised on them. And here he was, thinking he could trust them.

He doesn’t even comment on the two paint cans that Claire hauls up to the room she claimed for her own (Dean’s old one). He glances at Cas after catching sight of the paint dab on the top of a can that’s so dark he can’t tell if it’s navy or black.

Cas fills him in with a grave, “Midnight Raven Oil”.

“You guys,” Dean waves a finger between Cas and the stairs Claire disappeared up, “are done decorating,” he declares and stomps out the back door to scarf his unwanted sesame chicken on the broken porch with only two wooden sticks to aid him. Cas grabs a quart of fried rice and his own paper sleeve of chopsticks and follows after him.

“You don’t like the Sunlit Meadow.”

Cas seats himself cross-legged in the middle of the porch and cranes his neck to look up at Dean’s face as Dean leans his butt against the rail and it sags under his weight. He immediately straightens up. Cas is eyeing the styrofoam container in his hands hopefully so with a sigh Dean sinks down on the dirty porch beside him and settles the chicken on the knee closest to Cas. Cas plucks up a piece expertly and pops it into his mouth.

“It looks like a radioactive zombie barfed in a paint can and you want to slap it all over my mom’s house.”

Chewing, Cas shrugs. Dean spears some chicken with a single chopstick and dunks it in the rice until a decent amount sticks to the saucy exterior and then jams the whole thing in his mouth.

“The sales associate said it was chic without being predictable,” Cas explains after swallowing, unperturbed as he scoops a heaping mound of rice onto his chopsticks and offers it to Dean. Dean gladly puts his lips around the sticks and sucks the rice off.

“Well, she got that second part right anyway,” he says, only spewing a few grains onto his lap as he speaks around his mouthful. He brushes them off and continues. “The neighbors are gonna hate us.”

“Don’t they already?” Cas questions. Dean shrugs, he’s got a point. In the two days, they’ve been working their asses off getting this place disinfected not a single person has come to the door to welcome them to the neighborhood. Though Dean wonders if maybe that’s because they’re displeased by the eyesore that is the pile of broken and abused furniture and crap sitting in the driveway until they get the funds to rent a truck to haul it all to the dump.

Eh. Whatever. Who needs ‘em anyway? Dean couldn’t give less of a shit if no one in the entire neighborhood ever talks to them. As long as they keep to themselves and don’t start shit, Dean can’t complain really.

The thought is interrupted by the loud growl of a truck as it turns onto their street. Dean can’t see it from the back of the house, but he can definitely hear when the engine cuts out seemingly right out front. He and Cas trade looks and Claire’s voice calls from somewhere within the house.

“Anybody know why there’s a big ugly Ford blocking the driveway?”

Cas’s face goes taut and they both hurry to their feet and into the house.

“What the hell— Oh, shit,” Dean says, staring in slowly growing horror out the freshly replaced living room window.

An oversized pick-up, once red but now faded to mostly silver is parked across the end of their driveway just as Claire said. Mouth dry and pulse-quickening under his skin, Dean carefully steps away from the window. Maybe he’s wrong. Maybe it’s not…

A brunette woman slides out of the driver seat of the truck and slams the door behind her. She glares heavily at Baby on one side of the driveway and skirts the pile of crap on the side as she makes her way rapidly to the front door.

“Shit,” Dean hisses panic now at a high boil in his veins. He steps back and collides with Cas.

“What’s going on?”

“Cas, if you value your life get Claire and get out,” he says, words flying from his lips in a rushed whisper. “Go, go, go, before she—,”

A sharp rapping of knuckles sounds against the door and steals the breath from Dean’s lungs. Cas’s eyes sharpen and flick from Dean to the door and then he’s moving, gently pushing past Dean and marching across the room in a span of seconds.

“Cas, no!” Dean hisses, stalking after him. “You don’t underst—,”

Cas ignores him and yanks open the door revealing Ellen standing on the front stoop, her eyes sharp and critical like a hawk. She only gives Cas the courtesy of a passing glance before looking past him and zeroing in on Dean. Dean almost swallows his tongue when her eyes narrow and she takes a threatening step towards him.

Cas smoothly steps in her path and rumbles deeply, “Can I help you?” with a burning expression. Ellen scowls at him once before craning around him to focus on Dean again.

“Dean Winchester, I got a bone to pick with you, boy.”

“Hey Ellen,” Dean greets weakly.

“Don’t you ‘ _ Hey Ellen _ ’ me,” Ellen snaps, leaning farther around Cas only for him to step in her way yet again. She scowls up at him again and Cas stares back, unyielding and unintimidated. This time he seems to hold Ellen’s attention. She looks him up and down, taking in his ratty sweatpants-turned-cutoffs that are perhaps a bit too short, not that you’ll hear Dean complain, his stained green t-shirt with a smattering of small holes over his collarbone, and his perpetual sex-hair.

“Who the hell is this guy?” she asks Dean like Cas isn’t capable of answering the question for himself. Cas clenches his jaw, but says nothing, waiting to hear Dean’s answer.

“He’s— This is my… uh, Cas,” Dean says lamely. Ellen raises an unimpressed eyebrow, but Cas looks pleased enough at the shitty intro.

“This is your Cas,” Ellen repeats dryly. Dean opens his mouth and then changes his mind and shrugs helplessly with a darting glance to Cas.

“Don’t let him fool you,” Claire’s voice comes from behind. Dean whirls around to see her leaning nonchalantly on the doorframe, watching Ellen with a hard glint in her eyes. Fuck. It hits Dean then like a bolt of lightning; Claire and Ellen will either get on like a forest fire or forever be knock down drag out enemies. Dean sends out a quick prayer to the universe for the former. He's already had enough being the middleman between dad and Sam. He doesn’t think he’ll survive Claire and Ellen. “They’re totally in love. It’s sickening.”

The back of Dean’s neck grows inexplicably warm and he finds that he can’t bring himself to look at Ellen to see her reaction as the horror in his gut builds to an all-time high. He’s  _ never _ been open about personal things and who he likes to fuck definitely isn’t something he’d share with Ellen and the other Singer-Harvelles, even if Jo and Charlie are lesbians and accepted by them. There are  _ lines _ .

“Claire, go back upstairs,” Dean and Cas say in unison. Claire ignores them, still focused on Ellen.

“Who are  _ you _ ?” she asks. “A crazy ex-girlfriend?”

Dean chokes on his spit.

“ _ No! _ ”

“Family,” is all Ellen says and Dean’s heart stutters on the word. He can count the family he has left on one hand, but he hadn’t realized the feeling was reciprocated and he sure as hell hasn’t treated them like it. Cas shoots Dean a quizzical look.

“I thought Sam was your only family,” he says slowly, still not letting Ellen into the house. Dean heaves a great sigh and figures it’d be in his best interests at this point to get this thing over with. He glances up at Cas and buries a wince at the confusion and hurt marring his face.

“He is,” Dean assures him. “It’s just that…”

“Family don’t end in blood,” Ellen explains and Dean feels like an asshole. He thought Ellen, Bobby, Jo, and Charlie would be angry with him, but he’s starting to wonder if that’s only part of what he’s got to apologize for. He might have caused a lot of hurt by thinking no one he left behind would miss him much. They all had each other after all.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Cas says with a frown.

“Sure it does,” Ellen contradicts easily. She sticks her hands in her back pockets and leans against the doorframe, at once communicating that she’s not going to force her way in and that she’s got no problem waiting them out. “Ain’t you ever had a friend you loved like your own brother or sister? Or maybe a family friend who may as well be part of the family even though there’s no relation?”

“No. I don’t think I’ve ever had a close friend like that before,” Cas muses. “Certainly none of my parent’s friends. Well,” Cas continues after a beat with a side-eye towards Dean. Their gazes lock and all of the air steals away from Dean’s lungs at the all-seeing way Cas looks into him. “Perhaps I do understand. Though I wouldn’t call my feelings brotherly.”

Dean’s face feels like it’s baking off of his skull. He knows he’s blushing horribly because Cas (the fucker) gets a pleased little smile on his face before facing Ellen again and finally stepping aside.

“Please, come in. I’m sorry we don’t have many accommodations yet as we’re just moving in.” That’s putting it lightly. The living room is entirely bare save a single end table, ugly as sin, that Dean deemed clean enough to stay. He didn’t mention anything about the “SW” and “DW” carved into the top side of it and Cas didn’t argue.

Ellen steps into the room, silent for once as she looks Dean over in a new light. Cas closes the door behind her.

“Huh,” she finally says. “Never thought I’d live to see the day Dean Winchester blushed like a schoolgirl.”

“I told you they were gross.”

“Shut up.”

Dean can see Ellen itching to give him the verbal smackdown she came here to deliver, but Cas says something about grabbing a bottle of water for their very first house guest and as he passes by Dean, his face lit up with delight, he brushes his thumb across Dean’s wrist in a non-verbal promise that they’ll make the most of this. Dean feels the fight go out of his shoulders and he relaxes for the first time since hearing Ellen pull up. Despite everything, Dean can see Cas’s joy written all over his face at having someone to entertain in their “new” home and Dean would hate to ruin it for him with a stupid but inevitable argument that’s all his fault anyway.

Cas disappears into the kitchen for the water and Dean turns a pleading look onto Ellen, but he needn’t have bothered. She’s frowning at his wrist with a quizzical look. Dean’s not sure if it’s a good or a bad thing until Cas re-enters the room and she schools her expression into a polite smile as she accepts the water and thanks him. She looks over at Dean and their eyes connect, somehow wordlessly communicating that she’ll do him a solid and not hash out their issues in front of Cas and Claire, but later, his ass is grass. Dean’ll take what he can get.

An awkward silence falls and Dean realizes that Cas is staring at him, waiting for…

“Oh! Uh—so how’s the Roadhouse?” Dean asks hurriedly. Cas smiles, but Ellen gives him a look that tells him that in no uncertain terms does she appreciate the small talk, but she goes along with it anyway.

“Business is good,” she says, noncommittally. “Jo’s just as stubborn as ever. Still refusin’ to go to college like somebody else I know.” She glares at Dean and ice forms in his veins. He shoots her a pleading look and she thankfully changes the subject before spilling the beans about his less than stellar dropout status. He’s already getting an ulcer just thinking about trying to find a job that doesn’t pay under the counter and that doesn’t require a high school diploma. He doesn’t need the shame of Cas knowing what a screw-up he is on top of that.

“But otherwise same old same. Missin’ our boys. At least  _ Sam _ has the decency to call every now and again.”

Dean tries to look properly ashamed, but it’s difficult with all of the relief flowing over him like a waterfall.

“So is uh, is Jo still working at the Roadhouse?”

“Sure is. And you’re lucky she’s working today or she’d be here tearing you a new one.”

Dean doesn’t doubt that for a second and isn’t looking forward to the moment her shift ends and she storms over here like a hurricane dead set on tearing him to shreds.

“Is Jo your daughter?” Cas asks after a beat and a glance at Dean like he’s making sure he’s doing this whole communication thing right. Against his will, Dean is somewhat impressed. He didn’t think Cas was capable of holding a conversation without making things weird or… small talk at all really.

“She is.”

“She sounds lovely.”

Ellen and Dean snort.

“That a word for it I guess,” Ellen says with a wry twist of her lips. Cas falters and the conversation stalls. He glances at Dean, but before Dean can pick up the ball, Ellen claps her hands together and turns a shrewd eye to the interior of the house.

“Well, looks like ya’ll got a decent start. Where do you want me?”

“Excuse me?” Cas asks. Ellen narrows her eyes at him and Dean has to fight back the impulse to step between them.

“Didja think I came to ream Dean’s ass and leave?”

“…Well—,”

“You can come help me out back,” Dean interrupts. He can feel Cas’s special brand of blunt honesty collating in the air and while Ellen might find it refreshing, she also might see it as insolent and Dean isn’t willing to take that gamble just yet. Besides, Dean knows she’s not finished with him.

Cas shoots him a hurt look. Dean screws his face up into an apology, but he’s not sure that he gets it right before Cas is turning away and ushering Claire back up the stairs. Claire doesn’t say anything but imparts a serious look over her shoulder before she disappears around the corner.

As soon as they’re alone, Ellen whirls on him.

“What’re you doing?” she demands. Dean shoots her a sharp look and says nothing; instead, he heads for the backdoor knowing that Ellen will be hard on his heels like a border collie after a mail carrier. In the kitchen, he pauses only for as long as it takes to grab the bags of supplies Cas and Claire left behind. At least it looks like someone had the good sense to buy some sanding blocks along with the ridiculous  _ Paint Eater _ . He takes the bags out onto the porch and the screen door shuts behind Ellen as she follows him out.

Dean and Cas’s abandoned lunch sits on the porch where they left it, long cold. His appetite is gone, but he wonders if he should take it up to Cas.

“Well?” Ellen presses.

With a sigh, Dean turns away from the abandoned food. He’s not even sure that the microwave will work to get it heated back up. They haven’t exactly tried it out yet. Besides, all they have plate-wise is the styrofoam container it came in and putting that in the microwave will only result in a melted mess, cancer, or with his luck, both.

“Well, what, Ellen?” he snaps, not bothering to keep the fatigue out of his tone. He loves Ellen, he does. She wouldn’t be her without her bulldog mom attitude, but it’s only been ten minutes and Dean is worn out. He doesn’t want to defend his choices. He doesn’t want to explain how all of this came about or what he was thinking when he decided it. He wants to scrape all the old yellow paint off his mom’s siding so he can slap on some ugly ass green instead.

“Don’t take that tone with me, boy,” Ellen warns. “I wanna know how it came to be that you left to take your brother to school and came back two years later with a grown man and a teenager and didn’t ever once think to call. I know Sam told you we wanted you to. You boys are a lotta things, but we didn’t raise you to be liars.”

Dean bristles. “You didn’t raise us. I’m not your kid and neither is Sam.”

“Don’t you dare say that where Bobby might hear. He raised you boys like you were his own, whether you felt that way towards him or not.”

All the fight goes out of Dean in a rush. He rubs his temples. “Do we really have to do this now?”

“Yes.”

“Then scrape.”

Dean tosses her a sanding block and she catches it with an unimpressed stare. Dean ducks his head and gets to work with one of his own, roughly pushing the block along the grain of the siding and watching the yellow flakes peel off and flutter around his boots. A few moments later Ellen joins him a few feet away.

He knows he’s only got minutes to gather his thoughts before Ellen is on him again, but hell if he knows what to say. How does one explain Cas? How can he explain to someone how they met without coming across as a crazy person. Usually, when a ‘How we met’ story starts with picking up a hitchhiker, it doesn’t end with accruing a teenager and a grumpy man in a trench coat. More likely it ends with a body.

So he can’t start at the beginning like he did with Sam and lay it all out for Ellen to do with as she pleases. He wouldn’t want her knowing that much about his business anyway. Ellen doesn’t know him like Sam does, she wouldn’t understand. So, he thinks, he’ll start at the end.

“He’s it for me.”

He can see Ellen freeze from the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t stop sanding and he doesn’t look up. The paint continues to flake off and rain down over the slates of the porch.

“Me and him and Claire, we’re going to live in my mom’s old house and… and we’re going to be a family and that’s all there is to it.” His voice is hard like he’s daring her to argue. He can feel her staring at him so he scrubs harder at the wood, taking satisfaction in the dust forming on his fingers. The back of his neck is hot.

Dean throws down his sanding block and whirls around to face Ellen. “What?” he spits. “What is it? Is it cuz he’s a guy? Is he too old? That he has a kid? What’s your  _ problem _ ?”

Ellen says nothing, she doesn’t so much as blink for a long moment. Then she straightens her spine, expression cool as she sets her sanding block on the rail.

“I’ll forgive that outburst this time because I can see you’re under a lot of stress,” she says. “As for my problem, my only problem is that it looks like I owe Bobby twenty bucks.”

Dean stares.

“Twent—, What?”

Ellen raises her eyebrows. “Six years ago I bet him twenty dollars that there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that you were gay.”

“Bobby thinks I’m gay?” Dean blurts.

“Apparently, your love for Harrison Ford transcends the love of a heterosexual man.” Ellen rolls her eyes.

“Oh.” Dean suddenly and vividly recalls a highly embarrassing photo Charlie took at Comic-con roughly six years ago. Dean was blushing and wide-eyed, but hell, he got to shake Harrison Ford’s hand, he’ll take whatever photographic evidence he can get. Charlie, unsurprisingly, showed everyone before Dean finally got it back and hid it in Bobby’s glove compartment… Not the greatest hiding place in hindsight.

He shakes his head.

“Well, your wallet can rest easy, because I’m not gay. I’m bi.”

He can’t look her in the eye as he says it. In some ways, it’s worse to be bisexual than gay. A lot of people seem to have trouble believing that it doesn’t have to be all or nothing. He doesn’t know if Jo ever came out to her mom, but even if she did, there’s a difference between accepting a lesbian daughter and a half-gay, not-son who wants to settle down with some strange dude and his teenage daughter.

If Ellen’s at all surprised by the revelation, she hides it well.

“Huh,” she muses. “I always knew you and Jo were alike, but I never thought you’d take it this far.”

“…What?”

“Didn’t you know?” Ellen smirks in that way she does when she knows she has more information than you do and she wants to lord it over you for a minute before cluing you in. “Jo’s bi too. I thought it was kind of obvious with Charlie ‘n all.”

“What— I mean, yeah, Charlie, but I always thought Jo was a lesbian. If she likes dudes too, how come she never made a move on me?!”

Ellen’s expression goes flat in a way reminiscent of the calm before the storm, but before the hurricane can hit, the screen door opens.

“Dean, I require your assistance,” Cas says.

The retort dies on Dean’s tongue as he catches sight of Cas ducking shamefully in the doorway as  _ Midnight Raven Oil _ paint drips onto his shoulders and runs into his ear.

“There has been an incident,” Cas says gravely into the silence.

Dean snorts, a grin breaking out over his face as blackish goo starts to ooze down Cas’s forehead. Cas sighs and swipes at it with his forearm, effectively smearing it beyond all hope. Ellen turns away, hiding a smile behind her hand as her shoulders shake.

Cas sighs. “Please don’t laugh. Claire hasn’t stopped and it has rendered her entirely unhelpful.” Cas sends a pleading look Dean’s way that does nothing to quell his beaming grin.

“No promises,” Dean says and claps a hand to Cas’s bicep, careful to avoid the paint slowly soaking into the fabric of his shirt. “Let’s get you hosed off.”

The desperate puppy dog eyes make the trip to the hose all that much sweeter. Cas strips off his shirt and lets it fall in a heap, hitting the grass with a wet slap as Dean gleefully unwinds the hose. In only his too short shorts, Cas is showing a lot of skin and Dean can’t help but take it all in despite the ridiculous tan lines from working under the sun in jeans and t-shirts all summer and the sticky black paint smeared liberally over his upper half. Dean’s thinks there isn’t much that could make Cas unattractive in his eyes, but after seven months of living on top of each other, he’s got a lot of petty frustrations that he can take care of here and now. This is gonna be fun.

Dean would probably feel bad about the way Cas flinches under the frigid spray if he wasn’t paying Cas back for seven months of stinky feet, losing his favorite Star Trek shirt three months ago, and that one time he spilled mustard on Baby’s carpet.

“Can I have a turn?”

Dean turns to see Claire leaning over the rail of the porch and grinning shark-like at Cas as he pouts adorably, eyes squeezed shut as water and paint drip miserably over his face. Ellen stands behind her, one eyebrow raised at their shenanigans, but with an amused curl to her lips. Dean ignores her for now. There’s only so much soul-baring he can handle in a single day.

“Not a chance,” Dean says and angles his thumb over the spout to spray Cas’s hair with more pressure. Cas ducks away with a hiss.

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean croons. “If you want the paint off you gotta hold still.”

Dean adjusts his thumb, aims for the head, and it feels like therapy. When it’s over Cas isn’t the only one who feels clean.

“You enjoyed that too much,” Cas complains, swiping at his face as water dribbles down his forehead.

“Too much? I think you mean, just enough.”

In lieu of a response, Cas bends at the waist and shakes his head like a dog, effectively spraying not only Dean but the bystanders on the porch as well. With a yell, Dean leaps back, dropping the running hose as he does and Claire shrieks. A moment later, Cas has the hose and is bringing it up to aim. Dean does the only rational thing left at that point; he turns tail and runs, but not fast enough.

Freezing cold water hits him directly on his backside, eliciting a yelp as it soaks through his jeans and boxer briefs in seconds. Somewhere behind him Claire screams and Ellen curses, but Dean doesn’t turn back until he’s well out of range. When he does, it’s to an empty porch and Cas sprinting after him, hose in hand.

“Fuck!”

Dean dodges around Cas, getting a light misting from the hose as it barely misses him, and makes for the backdoor, counting on the unwieldy hose slowing Cas down enough that he can get there first. He leaps over the stairs and the porch sways ominously as he lands, but two bounds later he’s at the door.

He tugs open the screen and grasps the handle to the door and… it’s locked.

“God damn—  _ Claire! _ ”

The porch sways again and Cas is on him then, spraying up and down the back of his head all the way to his ass, soaking his jeans. Dean leaps at Cas and they wrestle for control of the hose, flinging water wildly and getting equally soaked. Cas wrenches the hose out of Dean’s grip, but only because Dean gets sprayed directly up the nose and falls back, choking and sputtering.

“I win,” Cas gasps breathlessly. “What’s my prize?”

“My foot… up your ass,” Dean wheezes. He blows his nose into the hem of his dripping shirt and then strips the whole thing off. It’s beyond saving.

Cas hums thoughtfully as he leisurely looks Dean up and down, gaze lingering on his exposed stomach and then dropping down to his clinging wet jeans.

“As the victor, I think I should get to select the body part that goes in my ass.”

“ _ Jesus, Cas _ ,” Dean hisses, glancing furtively at the silent door, his face hot. “Ellen’s in there!”

“So is Claire.” Cas shrugs, dropping the hose with a thump. He steps over the streaming water towards Dean. “They can keep each other company for a few more minutes.”

Dean doesn’t argue as Cas steps into Dean’s space and settles his hands on Dean’s hips. Dean is the one to lean forward, press their lips together, and curl his hands into the waistband of Cas’s sagging, waterlogged sweats to pull their bodies closer. Cas’s chest feels warm against Dean’s cold skin, but he holds back from wrapping himself around Cas like he wants to. Instead, he pulls away after not nearly long enough and presses a chaste kiss to Cas’s forehead.

“I hate you.”

“Hmm, I can tell,” Cas says with a soft smile, looking up at Dean through his eyelashes. Dean’s tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth and he clears his throat gruffly, hoping the tight feeling there will go away. He says nothing in response to Cas’s knowing look, instead stumbles back to the door and raises his fist.

“CLAIRE! Open the—,” the door falls open under his fist, effectively quieting Dean’s demand. He refuses to think too hard on the implications of the suddenly unlocked door and stalks into the house, Cas disappearing into the yard, presumably to shut off the water. He finds Claire and Ellen discussing the best treatments for the poor scarred hardwood in the living room and they both look up at Dean’s entrance.

“Have fun?” Claire asks, grinning obnoxiously just as Ellen, smirk barely concealed and a mischievous glint in her eye, asks, “Decided to join us?”

A forest fire it is then.


	10. Chapter Ten

Ellen stays for a few hours, scrubbing the floors while Dean and Cas work on removing the old yellow paint and clean up their mess on the porch, namely rinsing the stray dribbles of black paint out of the grass and throwing out the soggy Chinese food deemed unsalvageable. Before heading to her truck, she stops to give Dean a hug, telling him in no uncertain terms that she’ll be back in a couple days and she expects to see him, Cas, and Claire at the Roadhouse within the week.

“You and Sam may have been John’s sons, but you’re _our_ _boys_ and we love you. We still do. I’m glad you came home.”

Then she surprises Dean by hugging Cas and Claire as well. Claire accepts it reluctantly but doesn’t complain and when Ellen gets Cas she whispers something in his ear that gets him all bashful looking and he refuses to look Dean in the eye after. Dean glares suspiciously but doesn’t press and when Ellen’s truck finally disappears around the corner he lets out a relieved breath. He survived Round One, but there’s still Jo to contend with and Dean’s got no doubt that she’ll be by within the next 24 to 48 hours, possibly with Charlie in tow.

In the meantime, he’s in desperate need of food, although he learned his lesson earlier; he gets his own damn tacos.

.

~*~

.

“Why did you and mom get married?”

Dean almost chokes on his taco. They’re sitting in a haphazard triangle in the middle of the barren living room and Cas is staring at Claire like a deer caught in headlights, his burrito halfway to his mouth. 

“Why do you ask?” he asks after a prolonged pause.

Claire shrugs, picking lettuce off her chicken chalupa with her blunt black painted fingernails. “Just wondering.” She purses her lips and then lets out a sharp huff. “Ellen said something while we were painting. She said Bobby isn’t actually Jo’s dad and that he died when she was young and that she loves Bobby but she loves Jo’s dad still too and I just… I was trying to remember if you and mom ever loved each other and I couldn’t. Not like…” She trails off, letting her gaze drift between Dean and Cas and Dean really does choke on his taco.

She lifts her gaze to look Cas steadily in the eye, letting him know without words that he won’t be getting out of answering. Dean sucks down a long drink and then takes another bite of his taco, the shell crunching loudly between his teeth as he stares up at where the wall meets the ceiling, pretending to be anywhere but here.

Cas sets down his burrito and thoroughly wipes the pads of his fingers on his napkin before taking a deep breath. “We didn’t,” he admits. Dean stops chewing and his eyes flick to Cas. “We… Well, I come from a very religious upbringing. My parents, your grandparents, adhered very strictly to what they believed the bible was trying to tell them and that meant that I, as a demisexual man interested romantically in other men, am blasphemous and an unrepentant sinner.”

“Dummyseshual?” Dean asks, forgetting he still has a mouth full of taco. Cas smiles faintly and Dean rapidly chews the rest of his mouthful.

“Yes. I am only capable of experiencing sexual attraction after forming a profound emotional bond with someone.”

Dean swallows roughly, bits of taco shell scraping the walls of his esophagus all the way down. “So, when you and me-?”

“Yes, Dean. The first time we had sex I had already formed an emotional bond with you.” Dean’s heart trills in his chest and a smile creeps across his lips, unbidden.

“Gross,” Claire interjects, butchering the fledgling moment. “Can we not talk about you two getting it on over dinner?”

“Of course,” Cas says, visibly getting himself back on the correct mental track. “As I was saying, my parents thought my sexual orientation was unnatural. They tried to pray it away, they sent me to Christian summer camp, nothing worked obviously. Then I found some pamphlets in my father’s desk.” Cas frowns. “They were researching conversion therapy.”

Dean and Claire shiver.

“I didn’t know a lot back then – I was very sheltered – but I knew I couldn’t let it come to that. So, I-,” Cas’s voice breaks and he looks to Claire with guilty eyes. “I found a girlfriend. Amelia was the daughter of one of my parent’s friends and someone they had tried to… entice me with previously so I knew they would approve. I-,” Cas frowns at his hands in his lap. “I am not proud of my actions, but I can’t bring myself to regret them.”

“Why not?” Claire demands. Her face is closed off, no doubt having seen where the story is going.

Locking eyes with his daughter, Cas says, “Because they led me to you. How could I?”

“And how did that happen? Did you marry her and get her knocked up to please your parents too?”

“Not in that order,” Cas admits. “They were not pleased that we had a child out of wedlock, but the issue was remedied in their minds easily by having us marry. This also solved the dilemma of my sexuality. So long as I presented as a heterosexual to the outside world, they couldn’t care less about how I felt.”

“Why would you do that?” Claire asks, her voice pitched and her eyes shining. “You didn’t even love her.”

“But I loved  _ you _ and I would do anything for you, Claire.” His eyes are steady and calm and impossible for Claire to look into. “I knew Amelia would take you away the moment I confessed my true feelings and I was right.”

“Why did you even have sex with her?”

A dark look passes over Cas’s face and Dean straightens where he sits. No. No, she wouldn’t.

“I didn’t want to.”

“But you chose to anyway,” Claire snaps.

Cas swallows and looks up to stare at Claire sadly. “No. I did not.”

Claire jerks like she’s been slapped and a high-pitched ringing echoes in Dean’s ears while his stomach pitches uncomfortably. He doesn’t hear whatever excuse Claire gives before heading out the back door into the yard. He’s numb and yet something monstrous is raging under his skin, dying to ignite his flesh and incinerate his bones, to turn his very soul to ash.

A hand caresses Dean’s thigh.

“Dean.”

Dean blinks rapidly and fills his lungs to capacity then releases the breath but it does nothing to quell the hatred boiling in his chest. When he comes back to himself, Cas is there.

“I’m alright,” Cas says gently.

Dean swallows and his throat rebels against the command. “I can’t- I’m so angry. I  _ hate _ her.”

“There’s no use in being angry. I put aside my anger a long time ago. I’m okay.”

Dean shakes his head, struggling to find words in the chaos of red and black raging inside of him. “She- she violated you. How can you-,”

“I wouldn’t have Claire. That’s how I learned to, if not forgive her than to accept what happened as a necessary part of my past. I’m okay.”

Dean scrubs at his face.

“You should go talk to Claire. She’s got to be upset considering…” Dean trails off. If the look on Cas’s face is anything to go by, the memories of the week previous are just as sharp for him as they are for Dean. It fills him with rage anew to consider that not only was Cas taken advantage of by Amelia but that she would put her daughter in the same situation and then dismiss it as her craving attention. It makes Dean sick. It makes him furious.

“I think that’s a good idea.” Cas leans in and presses a lingering kiss to Dean’s forehead before pushing to his feet and following Claire. Dean looks around at their half-eaten dinner. He figures no one is going to have an appetite after that and starts cleaning up.

He makes more passes through the kitchen than strictly necessary, peering out the window each time only to find Cas and Claire in the same positions as the sun continues its slow descent. They’re on the swings, but neither is swinging. Claire is dragging her bare feet back and forth through the dry dusty dirt, constructing mountains only to crush them with her heel over and over. Cas has his feet planted and is looking up at the sky or perhaps the tops of the trees more often than not. Occasionally, he will watch Claire’s progress in the dirt, but inevitably he will be drawn back to the sky. Their lips are moving, but their words are unintelligible.

It seems like they stay out there forever. It’s at least an hour. Dean gets so antsy waiting for them he starts cleaning again. He scrubs the stairs, for want of something better to do. The dust is almost sticky it’s been walked on so much, but it’s a great chore to work off the uncomfortable itch under his skin as he passes time.

Finally, the back door opens. Claire goes past Dean, straight up the stairs without a word, but she manages a tight smile as she goes, so Dean figures it can’t have gone too poorly. He waits until he hears her door shut before he seeks out Cas.

He finds him outside on his swing, still gazing up at the sky like it holds the secrets of the universe and he desperately wants to unravel them.

“You okay?”

Cas blinks slowly, lifts a shoulder and lets it fall.

“I suppose.”

“That doesn’t sound very convincing.”

Dean sits gingerly on the swing next to Cas, but the old swing set doesn’t seem to mind the added weight. He thinks he’ll replace the chains when he gets the funds as a precaution though.

“I suppose it doesn’t.”

Dean cracks a half-hearted smile. “Is that all you’re good for anymore? Supposing?”

Cas turns away from the sky, blinking to clear his vision and then finally, he looks at Dean. And looks. And looks.

“Is there sour cream on my face?” Dean finally asks. Cas cracks another smile, a real one.

“I was thinking.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean pushes off against the ground, putting the swing in motion while Cas stays stationary. “Were they happy thoughts?”

Cas hums. “Neither happy nor sad, I don’t think. Simply… thoughts.”

“About Amelia?” Dean asks, the name tasting sour in her mouth.

“In a way.”

Dean digs his heels in, coming to a harsh stop. “Dammit, Cas, just answer the question.”

Cas blinks. “I have answered all of your questions, Dean.”

Dean huffs and puts his swing into motion again. “What were you thinking about, Cas?” he asks in monotone.

“If that’s all you wanted to know you could have asked.”

Dean shoots him a thin-lipped glare as he sways past and waits for the answer. Cas sighs.

“I was thinking that despite the many terrible things that have happened to me, that despite the ways I have been used and forced to live as something I’m not, I would do everything exactly the same were I given a second chance.”

Dean’s feet miss the ground and he almost falls off his swing. Cas grabs the chain to slow him to a stop.

“Why?” Dean asks, breathless. He can’t imagine going through the things Cas has gone through. He can’t imagine going through those things and then turning around and thinking he’d like to do it all over again. Hell, if Dean had the chance, he sure as fuck wouldn’t make the same choices he has throughout his life. He would have insisted Sam sleep with him in his bed that night of the fire. Then his mom would never have had a reason to get trapped in the nursery. He would have shoved Ruby off a bridge before she ever got her claws in Sam back in high school. He would have handled so many arguments between Sam and dad differently. He would have gone after his dad the night before he got himself killed. He would have… He would have…

He looks at Cas.

“I’m happy,” Cas says. “I have Claire and I have you. Without every single bad thing that happened to me in my life, I would have never had Claire and my search for her would have never brought me to you. It makes me wonder if my parents weren’t onto something after all. Maybe there is something about this universe that is preordained, tipping its hand to bring about circumstance. Call it what you will: God, fate, destiny. There’s something out there watching out for us.”

Dean snorts softly. “That’s some pretty heavy stuff for a Tuesday night, Cas.”

Cas smiles wryly. “I knew you wouldn’t agree.” He gets to his feet, dusting off his now positively ragged sweat-shorts and offers Dean a hand up. “Let’s go inside.”

Dean accepts his hand without hesitation and Cas kisses his knuckles once he’s on his feet, his gaze lingering on Dean’s over his hand while Dean tries not to blush.

“What?” Dean asks, self-consciously. Cas’s eyes take in every inch of his face, searching for something. He opens his mouth and then changes his mind. He presses another kiss to Dean’s hand and releases it.

“Claire’s questions reminded me that I haven’t spoken to Gabriel yet.”

“Who?”

“My cousin. I gave him my house when I left to search for Claire. He was also the only one I told about… how Claire was conceived and my sexual orientation. He’ll want to know that I’ve found her. He may wish to visit as well. Would that be alright?”

“’Course,” Dean answers without hesitation. “My family is your family and vice versa, right?”

Cas’s lips curl into an amused smile and he presses a kiss to Dean’s lips. “That’s very sweet of you to say, but I don’t think you’ll like him at all.”

He walks away, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket and leaving Dean gaping after him. He considers following Cas in the house, but figures he might like a little privacy talking to his cousin for the first time in who knows how long and it’s a nice night.

What does he mean, Dean wouldn’t like him?

He settles back onto his swing and gently pushes himself off the ground. He has a lot circling through his head that he doesn’t know how to begin to deal with. First, and most obvious, Cas was raped by Amelia. It makes his skin crawl and his stomach churn, but he needs to be able to say it in his own head, if not aloud. His girlfriend, turned wife, raped him and that’s how he fathered Claire into life. Claire herself is a product of rape. That’s a shit hand to be dealt.

He shakes his head roughly and sets that aside, turning instead to the more mundane tasks left to accomplish to get the house put back together. They’ve already almost extinguished their funds. Who knew home maintenance was so damn expensive? Not to mention, food and staying in that damn motel. As soon as they get some proper beds in this place they can drop that bill at least. He’s going to have to pick up a job soon though. Either that or find a bar with a pool table. It’s not something he wants to do so soon into their new start, but it’s better than going hungry.

He puts away those thoughts too. They’re growing more pressing by the day, but there’s nothing he needs to do with them at the moment. Instead, he closes his eyes and relishes the feel of the night summer air against his skin and he swings.

The back door opens, drawing Dean out of his stupor and lighting a yellow rectangle across the yard and casting Cas’s silhouette long and dark against the grass. He hadn’t realized it had gotten so dark. The door closes and Dean watches as Cas, trailed curiously by Claire, stiffly makes his way across the yard. When they get closer he takes in Cas’s pinched eyebrows and pale cheeks and frowns.

“Is everything okay?”

Cas sits down hard on the open swing and stares unseeing at the ground for several seconds while Claire makes herself comfortable leaning against the pole beside Dean with a concerned frown. Eventually, Cas looks up to catch Dean’s eye.

“I spoke with Gabriel,” he says woodenly, a frown creasing a ‘v’ between his eyebrows.

“And?”

“He would like to come visit.”

That isn’t why he looks like he witnessed Jesus Christ ascend to the heavens from their living room.

“ _ And? _ ” Dean presses.

Cas takes a breath. “He kept the money from selling the house. He waited a year to see if I would return and then sold it and put the money in a fund in my name. It doubled over five years and then he put it in a savings account, also under my name. It’s over $500,000.”

Dean’s jaw drops.

“Holy shit,” he and Claire say in unison. Cas nods, not reprimanding either of them.

“Did you live in a mansion or something?”

Cas huffs a laugh. “It sold for around $200,000. That’s fairly standard in today’s market.” He clears his throat and turns watery blue eyes onto Claire.

“You wanted to take an art class?” he asks. Claire nods rapidly, wide-eyed and speechless. Cas turns to Dean. “And the hardwood in the living room needs to be refinished.”

Dean opens his mouth and closes it again. He can’t…

“What is it?” Cas asks, searching Dean’s face like he’ll find the answer etched onto his forehead. “Whatever it is, I want to do it. It’s our money. It’s not like we need to pinch pennies anymore.”

All three of them look bewildered at that statement and Dean can’t help the awed laugh that escapes his lips. Look at them: A homeless guy, a neglected teen, and a runaway and they have half a million dollars. He laughs again.

“Baby needs new wheels,” he admits.

Cas nods. “New wheels for Baby,” he says distractedly like he’s adding it to a mental list and Dean’s heart swells. He wants to swoop over and kiss him right now, but Claire wouldn’t appreciate it and he’s not sure when he would stop.

“What about you?” Claire asks, excitement gleaming in her eyes. “What are you getting?”

“Me? Oh, I don’t-,”

“Pfft. No way, man. She’s right. You deserve something too,” Dean insists. Claire’s excitement is catching.

“I don’t know what I would-,”

Claire snaps her fingers. “A new coat.”

This throws both Dean and Cas for a loop. “What?” Cas without his trench?

“You need a new coat,” Claire decrees. “That dirty old thing has seen its last mile. It’s beyond time for an upgrade.”

“But…” Cas trails off, looking to Dean for assistance. “I like my coat.”

“I’ll pick out your new one.” Claire’s tone is final.

“Well… okay.” Cas looks to Dean again and Dean shrugs. It looks like the old trench’s final days are bearing down.

“The Teen Queen has spoken.”

“ _ Don’t _ call me that.”

The shock wears off quickly after that and they unanimously decide they need to go to the furniture store first thing in the morning to pick out mattresses. Well, second thing. They’ll need to stop at the bank first and make a withdrawal. Once they have something to sleep on, the house will be, if not perfect, at least livable.

They get back to the motel late that night after a full day of working their asses off. Invigorated by the amazing turn of events, they became cleaning and painting machines, making huge progress inside the house, but now they’re all tired and ready to collapse into bed. Claire is quiet, surprisingly so after the news they received. Or, Dean thinks, remembering the other things they learned, maybe it’s not so surprising after all. But they’re all tired. Maybe she’ll feel better in the morning.

.

~*~

.

The trip to the bank the next morning is surreal. Cas shows his ID to the teller and she slides him the slip with his account balance on it. When he catches a glimpse, Dean’s eyes bug out of his head. Sure, he knew roughly how much it was, but seeing six digits printed out like that is nothing to sneeze at. Cas insists on opening a connected checking account under both of their names, making Dean blush when Cas waves aside his protests with a heavy glare that brooks no argument.

Claire asks if she can have her own debit card too and is shot down from both sides before she can finish the question.

After that, their shopping trip at the furniture store passes in a haze, although that could be because Dean falls asleep on one of the displays, only waking when Cas shakes him awake and tells him it’s time to go. Dean doesn’t find out that Cas purchased the mattress Dean had been sleeping on, which just so happens to be one of those fancy memory foam ones that costs thousands of dollars, until they’re all in the car and Claire is complaining that Cas wouldn’t let her get the California King size one that, in the end, would have cost the same as theirs. Cas’s eyes sparkle when he tells Dean that he splurged and paid an extra $75 to get them delivered today while Dean gaps at him like a fish.

The disquieting feeling of inferiority is stifled before it can grow roots when Cas reaches over and takes Dean’s hand in his, a small smile playing his lips as he watches the scenery pass them by out the window.

Their new mattresses arrive just before two and as soon as the delivery truck pulls out of the driveway Dean collapses onto his new mattress and lets loose an exaggerated moan. He’s so happy he let Cas “talk him into” the memory foam. He caught sight of the receipt earlier and nearly had a stroke, but Cas assured him that this is what his money is for, building a home. Dean thinks it could go towards building a  _ cheaper _ home, but Cas gave him a stern look so he keeps his mouth shut about it.

Cas and Claire want to go clear out their motel room right away and bring their bags here and Dean can’t bring himself to stomp on their butterfly, despite the way the nerves in the pit of his stomach are intensifying by the minute. They’ve packed their things and are back in Baby on their way to the house in no time… the house where they’re going to  _ stay _ .

It hits Dean harder than he expects. His hands tighten on the steering wheel as the realization rolls over him in a furious series of waves. No more motels. No more odd jobs under the table. No more hustling pool and skipping town when the locals catch wise. No more pictures of raunchy truck stop bathroom graffiti that he sends to Sam. It’s life in suburbia from here on out. Goodbye open road and a different diner every night. Hello PTA meetings and forgetting to get the mail.

_ Fuck _ , the mail; he forgot to remove the rerouting address from their account. The post office is still forwarding everything to Sam. He knows it’s not a big deal, but it begs the question, what else is he forgetting? The power is on. The water runs. What about the gas? How does that work? Aren’t those bills coupled in with his water anyway? And garbage pickup. He doesn’t remember having to do anything special to make that go away besides not putting the can on the curb, but maybe he should give them a call anyway. With all the crap they’ve got, they can’t really afford to miss garbage day.

Fuck, what else is there? It’s been over two years since he walked out on having a normal life. It feels longer. He’s so completely removed from his old life he doesn’t remember how to fit back into it, or how he made it work in the first place. He was good at pretending, he knows. He had to be or Sammy never would have made it. CPS would have snapped him up and he would have been gone from Dean’s life in a blink.

Dean blinks and is surprised to find himself staring at the garage door through the windshield. A glance to his right reveals Cas is still in the passenger seat, looking concerned and trying to not to. Claire is gone from the back. Woodenly, Dean shifts into park. He removes the key from the ignition and silence falls around them as the engine cuts out, leaving his ears ringing.

“Is it the house?” Cas asks, his voice hushed, but still too loud in the compact silence within the car.

Mute, Dean shakes his head. He doesn’t think so at least. It’s… everything else. He takes a shaking breath. “It’s… I’ve never lived here without Sam or my dad.”

The last time Dean lived here, dad had the master bedroom, Sam was visiting from college and complaining about how small his dorm is, and Dean had his own room with a view of the street and the perfect ledge outside his window to step onto and grab the large overhanging branch of the oak tree out front and Tarzan his way to the ground. Now, dad’s dead, Sam’s gone, and Dean’s going to be living in the master with Cas and a view of the backyard while Claire gets the view of the street and the relatively easy to sneak out of window. Sam’s bedroom has been cleaned and his mattress replaced but is otherwise untouched.

“Do you miss him?”

_ God, yes _ . It was a manageable ache when he was driving from town to town, no set destination, but now - back in their hometown with memories around every corner - Dean misses his brother like he would a limb.

“Yeah, but he’s having a good time and making friends and, I mean, he can always come visit, right?”

Dean looks up in time to catch the surprise on Cas’s face as it turns into a soft smile.

“Of course, Sam can always visit; that’s why we left his room for him, but I was asking about your father.”

“Oh.” Dean blinks rapidly. “I, uh- Not really? I’m kinda sad I guess.” If that’s the word you want to use to describe the all-encompassing guilt Dean feels every time he thinks about his dad being dead because of him. “But mostly relieved. He was an asshole.”

A gummy smile steals across Cas’s face. The ache in Dean’s chest eases and the anxiety in his gut rests. He can do this. Cas takes his hand and bestows a kiss upon his knuckles. Dean’s heart skips in his chest as he returns Cas’s smile with one of his own. Yeah. He can do this.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Cas and Claire leave shortly after to get sheets and pillows and things for the beds. It’s the kind of thing you don’t think about when you’ve been living out of motels and your car- not until you’re faced with three bare naked mattresses anyway. When you’re on the road a flannel and a wadded-up pair of sweatpants work just as well in a pinch, but that’s not going to fly in an honest to God  _ home _ .

Cas doesn’t say so, but Dean has the suspicion that he’s also giving Dean space to work out his shit. He’s thoughtful like that.

Dean watches from the living room as Cas oh so carefully backs Baby out of the driveway and sets off down the street at a crawl. He snorts softly. What a grandpa. At least he doesn’t have to worry about him treating Baby right, but maybe they should think about getting a second car. Cas hasn’t shown much interest in having his own set of wheels, but Claire’s old enough for her learner’s permit and like  _ hell _ is Baby going to be the guinea pig of a student driver. No fucking way.

He spends the next half hour in dad’s-  _ his and Cas’s _ room (and isn’t that wild? Him and Cas live together, in a bedroom _ , _ in a  _ house _ )- cataloging the differences between when it belonged to his dad to now. Not that he ever plans on telling Cas, but he feels all warm and light seeing the touches that are uniquely  _ Cas _ that never would have made it there without him, the fancy-ass bed being the top of the list.

It’s amazing, but Dean never noticed despite all their moving around just how much Cas picked up along the way. There’s a book of matches from the B&B they stopped at that one time, several rocks, a pressed lilac, a broken keychain, a coaster from that one bar where they got shitfaced, and a million postcards, all from no-name small town, USA. They cover the wall opposite the door, peppering the room with color and personality and making it feel more like home than Dean would have thought possible. He sits on the edge of the bed and reads every single one, mentally singling out the ones from when he and Cas were traveling together. They’re the minority by far.

When he realizes what he’s doing, he stomps his way out to the back, mentally kicking himself for being such a sap. It’s just stuff. It’s only a room. They’re  _ postcards _ for Christ’s sake. Who even collects those anymore?

Within an hour, Dean has a decent chunk of the back of the house scraped free of paint leaving patchy yellow spots, but hey, it’s smooth. He tosses the scraper aside, shaking out the cramp in his hand and turns his focus to the porch.

Ugh, the porch. He’s going to have to tear down the whole thing to figure out what’s rotted or broken to make it list and sway like it does and who knows how much of the wood is going to be reusable after that. All he knows is he’s going to tear it down before the new paint goes on the house and then rebuild it after to avoid unsightly drips and splotches. If he’s going to put all this work into the damn thing it’s going to look nice as fuck. God, he hopes it isn’t termites.

“Did it eat your boyfriend?”

Dean jumps and snaps his head up towards the house where the voice originated. Jo is poking her head out of his kitchen window eyeing the porch critically. It’s only been two years or so, but she’s grown up. She’s lost most of her gangly youth and now looks like a real live young adult. What the fuck.

“What?”

“The porch. You’re glaring at it like it ate your boyfriend.”

Dean sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Joanna Beth, why are you in my house?”

“You wouldn’t answer the door,” she replies with a cheeky grin.

“So you broke in?”

“Hey, there was no breaking,” she says, indignant. “It wasn’t even locked. But seriously, where’s your boyfriend? Mom said he’s hot.”

“Gross. She did not.”

“She said you managed to rope yourself a polite, handsome young man, which, translated from ‘Mom Speak’, means he’s totally hot and not a douche. So, where is he?”

“Here,” Cas’s voice comes from inside, probably directly behind Jo judging by the way she jerks back and slams her head into the window pane.

“ _ Fuck! _ ”

Dean laughs, unsympathetic. It’s about damn time he got somebody else. Jo glares at him and flips him the bird before she ducks out of the window. A moment later Cas takes her place.

“Claire helped me pick out our bedding set, I hope you don’t mind.”

“I told you, whatever you pick is fine.”

“Good.” Cas smirks. “It has bees,” he says and then disappears back into the house.

“Are you-? Dammit, Cas!” Dean thunders as he stomps onto the porch, ignoring how it sways ominously under his boots, and storms in through the door. Cas blinks innocently at him while Jo looks absolutely tickled at the new development. Dean ignores her for now.

“You said you were doing bees in the bathroom,” Dean accuses. “The whole house can’t be bees!”

“I couldn’t find any bee bathroom materials so I’m doing dandelions instead.”

Dean throws his hands up. “Seriously? That’s too much yellow for one house.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “The dandelions aren’t living,” he says like it makes a difference. He casts a glance towards the kitchen doorway and leans in to whisper conspiratorially. “Claire liked the wall decals that we found, but they don’t go with her ‘theme’ for her room,” he divulges with his stupid finger quotes. Dean has no idea what this “theme” of hers consists of other than a can of ugly as fuck black paint, so he doesn’t see how “non-living dandelions” could mess it up, but what does he know? He’s just the guy who scrapes paint.

He scrubs a hand down his face. “Alright, whatever. Fine. Bees and dandelions it is. Jesus.”

Cas ignores Dean’s tone and smiles happily before nodding once to Jo and then heads back out the front door, more than likely to finish unloading the car.

“You are so whipped,” Jo snickers, peering around the doorframe to watch him go.

“Hey, hey, hey! Back off,” Dean warns with a stern finger. “I saw him first.”

He ignores Jo’s mocking laugh and follows Cas out to the driveway, partly to help unload, partly to check out the rest of the girlie crap him and Claire bought, and partly to get away from Jo. Jo follows him.

The rest of the haul isn’t so bad. There are some questionable items like the ugly ass area rug Cas got for the living room and 90% of the things Claire snatches up to go to her room before Dean can get a good look. Most of it looks like paint, but he can’t miss the giant comforter she pulls out of the trunk. It’s as black as that first can of paint and littered with constellations.

“Nice. Going for a space theme then?” he asks. Claire shoots him an unimpressed look and lifts her chin towards Jo.

“Is this one the ex-girlfriend then?”

“Claire, please,” Cas scolds tiredly, three bags in each hand as he closes the trunk to the Impala while Jo laughs and Dean pulls a face.

“Uh, no. Jo, this is Cas and Claire. Guys, this is Jo, Ellen’s daughter, and she’s more like the annoying little sister I never wanted.”

Jo’s smile is saccharine. “Then that must make you the older brother who couldn’t be bothered to stick around.”

He deserved that one but knowing it doesn’t lessen the sting. Cas goes rigid and Dean knows whatever is about to come out of his mouth is not going to endear him to Jo.

“Cas, it’s fine. Let it go, I deserved it.”

He turns to face Dean, his expression severe. “No. It’s not, I won’t, and you didn’t.”

He adjusts the bags in his hands and makes for the front door without so much as a glance towards Jo. Dean figures it’s the best he could have hoped for all considering. Jo watches him go with narrow eyes and all Dean can think is _fuck_. Fuck his life.

“Can you wait to chew me a new asshole later?” Dean asks. He means to interject a hint of pleading into his tone, but it just comes out tired. “Please?”

Jo sucks her teeth, and eyes Dean up consideringly before flicking a glance towards Claire, still standing with her hands full of her things and not even bothering to pretend like she’s not only standing there to listen in.

“Fine. Where do you want me?”

“Uh, what?”

Jo rolls her eyes. “I didn’t come just to ream your ass for disappearing for two and a half fucking years. What needs to be done?”

“Language,” Dean mutters with a half glance towards Claire and then hates himself when he becomes the subject of Jo’s incredulous stare. “Just… shut up.”

“You know she’s in like, high school, right?”

“That’s what I said,” Claire and Dean chorus. They don’t look at each other, but Jo is wearing an amused smirk and Dean feels like dying.

“You can help me scrape.” He ignores her sudden sour expression and heads for the front door. She and Claire follow. “We’re working on getting the old yellow paint off so we can slap on a fresh coat.”

Dean leads the way through the living room, nearly unrecognizable from how it looked two days previous. It’s empty for one thing. The only things left are the hideous end table and the scarred hardwood floor. In the kitchen, they find Cas, stiff-jawed, unpacking bags of groceries into the freshly cleaned cupboards. Dean manages to catch his eye and does his utmost best to convey his remorse through eye contact alone. Cas must get the message because the tension leaves his shoulders and when he resumes unpacking after holding Dean’s gaze for several seconds, his movements are less abrupt and mechanical.

Dean lets out a breath and grabs a spare paint scraper off the table, a proper one from their trip to the hardware store after they bought their mattresses. Jo accepts the scraper distastefully.

“You know, I’m not really a hard labor kinda girl.”

“Tough,” Dean tells her, crossing his arms over his chest. “Besides, aren’t you the same Jo Harvelle that beat up the quarterback junior year?”

“Hey, he had it coming.” Jo points the business end of the scraper Dean’s way. “And as I remember it, you held him down so…”

Dean winces as he feels Cas and Claire both looking at him. He’d forgotten that detail, but fuck, what was he supposed to do when he found out the douchebag had been knocking Jo around after she got outed to the school for being anything other than straight? He tries a different track.

“The same Jo Harvelle that made the captain of the girls’ basketball team cry when she showed her her knife collection?”

“I was trying to score a  _ date _ . How was I supposed to know she wasn’t as tough as she looked?”

“Dodged a bullet there,” Claire mutters.

Jo grins at her. “Right?” Claire smiles back a little hesitantly as Jo continues. “It  _ is _ a pretty sweet collection. Sometimes I get choked up looking at it too.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “You gonna recite a poem or get to work?”

A wicked smile flits across Jo’s lips and she scrunches her nose thoughtfully.

 

> “ _ There once was a girl named Jo, _
> 
> _ She thought that Dean was her bro. _
> 
> _ He laughed at her knife, _
> 
> _ So she ended his life, _
> 
> _ And merrily on her way she did go _ .”

 

Claire barks a laugh and behind Dean, Cas quietly applauds. Jo bows as Dean glares at him over his shoulder. “Wow.”

Cas shrugs. “It was a decent improvisation.”

Jo smiles smugly and appraises Cas anew. “I think you’re starting to grow on me.”

Cas’s expression goes blank save the barest lift to his eyebrow as he regards Jo. He hums noncommittally and goes back to what he was doing. Rather than looking put off, Jo looks delighted.

‘ _ I like him _ ,’ she mouths silently at Dean. Of course she does.

“Wanna help me with my room?” Claire asks, smiling shyly. Dean does a double take. “My dad’s hopeless with a paintbrush. He can help Dean scrape.”

Cas stops, can in hand halfway to the cupboard to trade glances with Dean as Jo eagerly agrees and tosses the scraper onto the kitchen table as she trails after Claire towards the stairs.

She turns around, walking backward and says, “Smell ya later!” before spinning around and disappearing up the stairs with Claire.

“Well,” Dean says into the silence, “they seem to get along.”

Cas harrumphs, squinting after them and Dean pats his shoulder. “Nothing you can do man. Need a hand?”

They get the kitchen squared away in a matter of minutes, Dean only making fun of a few of Cas’s purchases (how many boxes of mac ‘n cheese does one household really need?) and Dean takes up his paint scraper.

“I’m using the PaintEater,” Cas insists.

Dean scoffs. “Be my guest, buddy.  _ I _ am going to get to work.”

He waggles the scraper in Cas’s face as they cross paths, Dean towards the backdoor and Cas to the kitchen table where the PaintEater still sits in its box.

“I'll join you shortly.”

Cas takes a seat at the table and wrestles the instructions out of the box to frown at them in determined concentration. Dean buries a smile and shoulders his way outside. The clouds are hanging low in the sky, heavy with moisture that makes the air thick in Dean’s lungs. It’s muggy as fuck, but it’s not supposed to rain and Dean will take that over working under the hot sun any day.

He surveys the house, taking in his and Ellen’s progress from the day before coupled with his progress from earlier and hauls the old ladder out of the garage to start from the top. Better be it for him and his simple hand scraper to be two stories up on the ladder than Cas and his unwieldy corded contraption.

It’s boring, strenuous work and it doesn’t take long for his muscles to start screaming abuse leftover from before, but he pushes on, taking a perverse sort of pleasure from the pain. Jo wasn’t wrong in her assessment of his standing in their friendship so he figures he deserves it. Besides, the sooner the old paint comes off, the sooner he can take apart the porch to figure out what the hell is going on there and then the new paint can go on and he can rebuild the porch and  _ fuck _ \- they still have so much to do. He needs to check out dad’s old mower and see if it’ll even run. It’ll be a miracle if it starts.

Dean sighs and lets his forehead fall against the siding with a muffled thump. There’s so much to do. How is he going to get through it all? One thing at a time, he reminds himself. Now that they’re moved in proper it’ll be easier.

Jesus, they’re sleeping here tonight. He’d forgotten. This whole apple pie life thing is so removed from his scope of understanding he can’t seem to get the simplest things to stick in his head. Tonight, they don’t have anywhere else to go. They’re going to eat dinner and then dink around until they’re tired enough to sleep and then they’re going to split up, Claire going to her own room while Dean and Cas go to theirs. Something so basic shouldn’t be giving Dean a migraine.

By the time Cas emerges from the house, Dean has had to move the ladder twice.

“I was starting to think you’d flaked on me,” he calls down to where Cas is plugging in the PaintEater with quick precise movements.

“I was reading the instruction manual.”

Dean barks a laugh and wipes the slowly dripping sweat from his forehead with his equally sweaty forearm. “What, all of it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t know Chinese, but I was able to muddle my way through French and Japanese. And I’m fluent in English and Spanish of course so neither of those were a hardship.”

Dean lowers his scraper. “No shit? How do you know so many languages?”

Cas shrugs. “It was a hobby.” He puts on a pair of clear safety glasses, the kind that Dean is used to seeing him wear whenever they used to pick up construction gigs, but have never lost their sex appeal. “It’s my understanding this will be loud.”

He flips the switch on the side of the PaintEater without further warning and the whining scream of the stupid thing drowns out any possible conversation. Dean swallows his questions and gets back to work.

Who knew he was dating such a nerd?

Later, Dean’s arms are aching horribly and his legs are cramping from standing on the ladder all afternoon, but the peak of the house is done as are the borders around the second story windows. He surveys his work with pride and thinks it’s as good a stopping point as any for a water and snack break. Halfway down the ladder, the PaintEater cuts out as suddenly as it started over an hour ago and the resulting silence has his ears ringing.

He does a double take and nearly falls off the last few rungs as he takes in Cas’s progress.

“Holy shit.” He eyes up the PaintEater in Cas’s hand with newfound appreciation. “What a beast.”

Cas smirks and sets aside the PaintEater. Perching his safety glasses on top of his head, he then lifts the bottom hem of his shirt to wipe his red sweaty face. Dean’s appreciation finds a new subject in the toned lines of Cas’s stomach. It’s only Jo and Claire’s distant, but definite presence that stops Dean from suggesting a little afternoon delight on the brand-new mattress waiting for them upstairs. For now, he’ll have to find a way to tide himself over.

When Cas resurfaces, letting his shirt fall, Dean is there. Cas goes willingly when he fits his arms around his neck and pulls him in for a lingering kiss. Cas’s hands rest heavily on Dean’s hips as he leans in with a silent sigh.

Dean pulls back sooner than he’d like and marvels at the way Cas’s eyelashes kiss his cheeks before he belatedly opens his eyes. A silly smile is playing across Dean’s lips, but he can’t bring himself to do anything to tame it.

“What?” Cas asks. He’s not smiling, but his eyes are bright and focused intently on Dean.

Dean swallows the sweet sappy nothings that threaten to bubble out of his throat and says, “Can I use the PaintEater next?”

Cas drops his hands to his sides. “No.” He doesn’t bother to sugar-coat the rejection and Dean grins, stepping a half step closer and playing with the hem of Cas’s shirt.

“Aww, c’mon, baby,” he wheedles. Cas goes still and his gaze sharpens. “What?”

Cas hesitates, searching Dean’s face. “You’ve never called me that before.”

Dean plays back their conversation and reluctantly takes his hands off Cas. “Baby?”

Cas’s lips twitch and his eyes flit to stare over Dean’s shoulder into the distance. “Yes, that.” His eyes narrow to a squint and his mouth scrunches unhappily. “I like it,” he admits like it’s something distasteful.

The surprise only lasts a moment and then Dean can’t help his gleeful smile as he slips his hands under Cas’s shirt to dance against the warm skin on his hips. Leaning in, he brings his lips to the shell of his ear where they brush against it as he murmurs, “Does this mean I get to use the PaintEater, baby?”

Cas jerks back with a scowl, but his eyes are dilated. A trill of excitement leaps in Dean’s chest.

“No.”

“Aww, baby, don’t be like that,” Dean coos, stepping after him.

Cas drops his gaze to the deck beneath their feet. “Dean, please.”

Dean dips his head to catch Cas’s eye and bites his bottom lips to hold back his smile. Cas zeros in on the movement then drags his gaze up to meet Dean’s eyes. His breath catches painfully in his throat as their gazes lock, hearts beating in tandem and bodies pinned in place as Dean falls into the electric blue abyss.

“Dean.”

Dean unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth and when he speaks his voice is low and rough. “Yeah, baby?”

He watches in fascination as Cas’s pupils expand further and a light pink flush creeps up his throat, drawing attention to the rapidly pulsing artery above his Adam's apple.

“Are you blushing?” Dean leans in to ask, mouth dropped open in a delighted grin. He’s never seen such a physical reaction on Cas to anything outside of bed. He looks up to Cas’s eyes, now narrowed in displeasure.

“Are you going to kiss me or not?” he complains huffily.

With a smirk, Dean leans in just close enough to skim his lips across Cas’s.

“Do I get to use the-,”

Cas cleaves himself off from their embrace with a sound of disgust in the back of his throat and stalks off towards the door, snapping up the PaintEater as he goes.

“Is that a no?”

With a parting sour stare over his shoulder, he steps through the doorway and slams the door behind him. Dean laughs lightly under his breath and, after adjusting his pants, follows, distractedly ruminating on all the ways this new development can work in his favor. He takes the doorknob in hand and gives it a sharp twist, but it doesn’t budge.

“Seriously?” he bursts. “C’mon, Cas, don’t be a dick!” He rattles the doorknob. “Let me in!”

He hears a distant laugh that sounds like Jo. The door remains locked.

“Son of a bitch.”

.

~*~

.

Charlie arrives while Dean is scraping the front peak of the house, her car making an awful racket that he can hear clear as day even over the unending screeching of Cas’s PaintEater around the corner where he’s working on the south side of the house. He resolves himself to take a look at it the first chance he gets. She waits until he’s off the ladder and leaps at him with a strangling hug only to fall back in disgust at the moist tacky state of his shirt and skin.

“Oh, nasty,” she complains, wiping her hands on her artfully ripped jeans while Dean laughs. Her hair is cropped short now and her nails are painted for once, but she’s wearing the same old ratty sneakers she’s been trekking around in for the past ten years and her bright purple t-shirt says, “Make Love Not Horcruxes,” so he figures she can’t have changed much while he was gone.

“Hey, kiddo. Nice do.” He tries to ruffle her hair, but she ducks out of range.

“Hands off, Winchester! Now,” she puts her hands on her hips, “where is this mysterious mystery man of yours? I hear he’s dreamy.”

She’s nervous. Her smile is forced, she’s twitchy as hell, and she can’t seem to hold eye contact with Dean for more than a second. It hurts to see her like that around him, but he has the good grace not to call her on it and to play along.

“Don’t tell me you’re secretly bi too.”

“Nope!” she says too cheerfully. “I’m a 100% lady’s lady. I’ll take my Klondike bar, emphasis on the  _ dike _ .”

Dean stares. “Never say that again.”

Charlie wrinkles her nose. “Yeah, it was pretty rough. I’ll work on it.”

Dean drops a hand onto her shoulder and looks her square in the eye. “Let it die.”

Her face softens, the anxiety draining away as her eyes fill and her bottom lip trembles.

“I really missed you.”

Guilt settles heavy in Dean’s gut. “Ah, c’mon, Charles. Bring it in.” He lifts his arms invitingly and this time she ignores the unpleasant damp of his shirt and wraps her arms around his waist and snuggles in against his chest. He settles one hand on the back of her head while the other presses between her shoulder blades, holding her close.

“I’m sorry, kiddo.”

“Promise you won’t leave again,” she orders stuffily. “Not like that.”

“I promise.”

She pulls back to glare at him, crossing her arms over her chest. “Cross your heart and swear on Baby.”

Dean shakes his head, huffing, but drags his pinky over his heart in an ‘X’ and dutifully recites, “I swear on Baby I will not ditch out on you guys ever again.”

He holds out his pinky and Charlie links hers around it and they shake.

“You are so sworn.”

The front door opens and Jo emerges followed by a curious Claire.

“Charlie!” Jo exclaims. “I thought I heard your car pull up. Are you crying?”

Jo turns a hard glare on Dean as Charlie finishes wiping her eyes and lifts her chin stubbornly, sniffing wetly. “I never cry.”

Jo and Dean snort in unison.

“Yeah, okay, you big baby. Come here.” Jo hops off the stoop and wraps her arm around Charlie’s shoulders.

Charlie lets her head fall onto Jo’s shoulder even protests feebly, “’m not a baby. I’m your fia- girlfriend.” She darts a wide-eyed glance towards Dean who can only stand, stunned as his mind races.

Jo sighs. “Seriously? It’s been like two minutes.”

“I told you I can’t keep secrets.” Charlie jabs Jo in the side with a crooked finger making Jo flinch.

“Wait,” Dean says as his brain finishes connecting the dots. He glances up at Claire, but she’s too busy glaring at the back of Charlie’s head to notice. “Did you get engaged?”

Twin smiles light their faces. Charlie bites down on hers and ducks her head while Jo stares Dean down smugly.

“Yep. As of last week,” says Jo.

“She left the ring on the table in a treasure chest. I almost died when I saw it. Look it, look it!” Charlie exclaims, pulling a chain out of her shirt. On the end is a gold ring. Rather than a stone, there is a flat shield pressed onto the top. Dean steps closer for a better look and sees it’s the coat of arms of Charlie’s LARP kingdom where she reigns as queen and Dean is her, chronically absent of late, handmaiden while Jo is her most faithful knight.

“Woah, that’s awesome.”

“Isn’t it? Look at the inside.” She turns it so Dean can read the inscription on the reverse of the coat of arms: ‘ _ Queen of my heart _ ’.

Dean grins. “Who’da thunk our spunky little Jo was such a romantic.”

“ _ Bite me _ .”

“I think I’ll leave that dubious honor to your  _ fiancé _ .”

Jo and Charlie look at each other and Jo’s embarrassment and Charlie’s excitability soften and reform into a sweet and private enthrallment meant only for the two of them.

“Ugh. I can’t say I’ve missed being your third wheel. You’re worse than ever.”

Jo snorts and shoots him a look, moment effectively ruined. “Oh puh-lease. You and your man candy are a thousand times worse.” She adds for Charlie’s benefit, “They’re already doing the whole silent communication thing. Claire, back me up.”

Charlie perks up at the name and wiggles her way out from under Jo’s arm so she can turn around.

“Yeah, they’re gross,” Claire grumbles. Jo frowns at her, but what Claire lacks in enthusiasm, Charlie turns back on her ten-fold.

“Oh, my God. Claire!” Charlie stumbles up the concrete steps to pull her into a surprise hug. “It’s so nice to meet you, I’ve heard so much about you. Welcome to Lawrence! Jo told me you like to draw. I can totally hook you up! I know a group I used to LARP with and-,”

“Pass,” Claire grumbles, elbowing her way to freedom.

Charlie falters dropping her arms to her sides and stepping out of Claire’s immediate space, but the hesitation only lasts a moment. “Yeah, okay fair. Fair. But listen, if you’re ever interested in-,”

“I have a lot to get done inside still. I’m gonna get back to it,” Claire interrupts again. Charlie’s face falls, her confusion evident.

“Oh. Okay then. It was nice to meet you,” she says weakly.

Claire raises her eyebrows coolly and looks her up and down. “Yeah,” she says. She pivots and disappears into the house, slamming the door behind her and leaving a startled silence in her wake.

Charlie turns around, bewildered and hurt while Jo frowns critically at the door.

“Did I do something?” Charlie asks in whisper.

Dean shakes his head. “No, it’s just… Sorry about her.” He rubs the back of his neck. “She’s… adjusting. Kid’s been through some shit, but I’ll talk to her, or, well, I’ll have Cas do it.”

“Have me do what?”

Dean spins on his heel to find Cas approaching from around the corner, hair ruffled haphazardly where it’s not stuck to his forehead with sweat. Dean hadn’t noticed the ever-present squeal of the PaintEater cutting out. Damn, he looks attractive. He stops in front of Dean, expectantly awaiting an answer.

“I, umm.” Dean scratches behind his ear. “I’ll tell you later. Anyway, this is Charlie, the other little sister I never wanted.” He gestures over his shoulder and Charlie lifts her hand in an awkward wave.

“’Sup.”

Cas startles, apparently not having noticed her at first. “Oh! Umm, hello.” He mimics her wave and his forehead wrinkles as he tilts his head like a confused bird. “Sup.”

Jo turns away, burying her smile in her shoulder while Charlie appears thoroughly charmed, her happy energy quick to return. Finally, something goes right.

“I’m so stoked to meet you. I’ve heard all about you by now of course.”

Cas turns to Dean with wide eyes and all he can do is shrug in response.  _ He _ hasn’t told Charlie all about him, but between her, Ellen, and Jo there is a rather effective grapevine that he chooses not to think about lest it keep him up at night.

“Okay, so there are some gaps,” Charlie admits, correctly interpreting Cas’s concern, “Like, for one, how did you two meet? Tell me all about it.” She’s bright-eyed and bouncing on the balls of her feet, but that’s no excuse for Cas to tell her the  _ truth _ .

“I was hitchhiking and Dean picked me up off the side of the highway and we...” He shrugs. “Continued as such.”

Charlie and Jo turn on Dean, unsettled. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he avoids meeting their eyes and turns to Cas instead.

“Dude, you don’t have to make it sound so weird.”

Cas squints at him like he’s the odd one. “It was a highly unusual circumstance, Dean.”

“It wasn’t that unusual,” Dean grumbles, crossing his arms.

“We drove well into the night and then pulled over onto a secluded dirt path at which point you insisted we sleep in the car. I thought you were going to kill me. I didn’t sleep all night and there were several times I almost began walking back in the direction of the highway to try and stop another driver.”

Jo cackles. Dean ignores the heat suddenly stinging his cheeks. “I thought  _ you _ were going to kill  _ me _ . It wouldn’t be the first time,” he says, thinking of the guy with the bloody knife in his backpack.

Cas’s expression turns flat. “You are in exquisite health for a dead man.”

Jo and Charlie positively howl. Dean glares at them before saying to Cas, “That’s not- You know what I mean!”

Cas smiles softly, then says to Jo and Charlie, “In the morning he fed me pie out of his trunk”.

“Is that a euphemism?” Jo snickers.

“ _ No _ ,” Dean barks, thoroughly embarrassed. He’d never stopped to think about how all of that looked from Cas’s point of view, but looking back… yeah, it was a miracle he didn’t take off that first night while Dean slept. The kicker is if he would have woken up to find Cas gone he would have just shrugged it off and rolled on, not having a clue what he missed out on.

“Wait, so you’re telling me,” Jo begins incredulously, “that you picked up a random hitchhiker and, what? Decided to cart him around the country on your epic road trip?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, Jo. That’s exactly what happened. I found him on the side of the road and thought,  _ maybe I’ll keep him forever _ ,” Dean snarks, but as he says it he realizes it’s not entirely untrue. It didn’t happen like that all at once, but Dean  _ did _ find him on the side of the road and he  _ does _ want to keep him forever.

Jo rolls her eyes. “Don’t be a smartass.”

Steady fingers lightly ghost across the back of Dean’s wrist and Dean looks up to find blue eyes smiling at him fondly.

“We may have had an unorthodox start, but I can tell you when I decided I could trust him,” Cas says, still watching Dean. “It was later- we’d gotten a motel and I stayed there and watched Loony Tunes while Dean went to the bar to con money out of unsuspecting townsfolk over the pool table and gather intel about possible work in the area.”

“Sounds like Dean,” Jo mutters. Dean ignores her, still trying to figure out when exactly Cas is talking about. Truth is, while they were on the road, what Cas just described was a common way their evenings were spent, especially in the beginning.

“He came back drunk. Very drunk. It was late and usually, when he got into that state he would go straight to sleep, but that night he talked.”

Dean goes still. He doesn’t remember this at all and it’s kind of freaking him out that Cas has been sitting on this all this time and hasn’t said anything. Cas takes his hand and links their fingers together, squeezing to reassure him as he continues.

“It was fairly garbled, as drunken rambling is wont to be, but I came to understand a few key things. Namely, that you have a brother, Sam, who you love more than the air you breathe, and that your father passed away and you felt the blame rested with you.

Dean blanches. “I told you about my dad?”

“No.” Cas shakes his head. “You were rambling. It was only mentioned in passing and was much less detailed than what you’ve told me since.”

“Wait a second,” Jo interjects. “He’s told you about his dad?”

Cas frowns. “I just said he was rambling-,”

“No, I mean after that. He’s talked to you about it since then, right?”

“Of course.”

“Like, he talked about that night?” Charlie asks. “The night he died?”

“I am standing right here,” Dean mutters. They ignore him.

“We’ve spoken of it,” Cas confirms, casting a confused look Dean’s way, and thus missing Jo’s stunned expression and the way Charlie stares up at him in awe.

“So, you know he’s like, totally in love with you, right?” Charlie and her big mouth blurts. “He won’t talk to  _ anyone _ about that stuff.”

A rush of heat envelopes Dean’s face and he’s sure he’s now ten shades of red.

“I- You can’t- Shut up.” He can’t look at Cas. Tugging his hand free, he stomps towards the front door. Charlie tries to stop him.

“Wait! We haven’t heard your side yet!”

Dean shoots her a bitter look that stops her in her tracks and keeps walking.

“I can tell you that,” Cas says easily. Dean trips on the step. “It was the first time he allowed me to drive the Impala.”

Dean rips the door open, but doesn’t get it closed before he hears Charlie whisper, “ _ Soulmates _ ”.

He ignores Claire where she’s cross-legged on the floor under the big window, blatantly eavesdropping with a deer in the headlights expression, and continues to the kitchen where he picks up a screwdriver and sets about replacing the hinges on the two crooked cupboard doors as loudly as possible.

He’s not sulking. He’s not running away. He’s just… not ready. He’s not ready for people to be putting those kinds of words in his mouth- those words  _ specifically _ . He’s not ready to look Cas in the eye and judge whether or not he reciprocates those words or be judged on whether or not Dean really feels that way. He can’t take the risk of throwing those words out there if he’s not going to be hearing them back. Worse, he can’t take the risk of Cas returning the words only to later realize he’d overestimated his feelings. He can’t put himself through that kind of hurt.

He’s fifteen minutes into his task when Cas seeks him out, coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around his waist.

“I’m working,” Dean grumbles, cranking his screwdriver.

Cas hums and the vibration from it eases into Dean’s back. “So you are,” he says as though he hadn’t noticed. Asshole. Cas sighs and rests his mouth against Dean’s shirt. “Dean, you don’t need to be embarrassed,” he says into Dean’s shoulder. He can feel the heat of his mouth through the cotton. “I take anything anyone says about our relationship with a grain of salt.”

Dean’s hands still, screwdriver locked into place on the head of the screw. His curiosity is going to damn him, but he asks anyway. “What if it was true?”

Cas shifts and settles so his cheek is now pressed where his lips were and his breath ghosts across Dean’s throat like a warm breeze.

“Then I would be very happy to hear it from you. Not Jo or Charlie or even Claire can tell me what you’re feeling and have me believe them. It has to come from you, Dean.”

Dean puts down his screwdriver and turns around within Cas’s loose hold.

“Where is everyone?”

“Charlie and Jo had plans to go to the craft store. Something about ‘larping’,” he explains with finger quotes. Dean’s lips twitch. “Jo convinced Claire to join them under the pretense of purchasing supplies for her room.” Cas hesitates. “Claire seems fond of her.” Yeah. Real fond. “Charlie said they’d be sure to take at least a couple hours.” Cas frowns. “Then she winked at me. I don’t know why.”

Bless that girl.

“You wanna test out our new mattress?” Dean asks with a smirk. “We can find out just how good its memory is.”

Cas frowns as he regards Dean. “I inspected all of the mattresses for defects after they were delivered. They’re in perfect condition. Also, I don’t think that’s how the memory foam wo-,”

“Cas,” Dean interrupts with a hand against Cas’s hip. He teases the skin just above his waistband and steps close enough that his eyes almost cross. In a low tone he says, “Baby, that’s not what I meant.”

Cas’s eyes go wide and he licks his lips.

“Oh,” he nearly whispers. “I understand now.”

“Good.”

Cas’s eyes fall shut as Dean closes the gap between their lips. Guiding Cas backward, Dean shuffles them towards the stairs without releasing his lips. He manages to get them up the stairs and into the bedroom all while licking into Cas’s mouth and trailing kisses down the column of his throat and across his collarbone. He tastes salty, like sweat.

When Cas finally trips backward onto the bed, Dean following swiftly after, breathless from laughter, Cas’s eyes are practically glowing. His lips are curled in a soft, titillating smile as he gazes up at Dean and it gets harder to breathe.

They’re in  _ their _ house, in  _ their _ room, on  _ their _ bed, laying atop  _ their _ blankets. It hits Dean all at once, making him light-headed.  _ They’re home _ . This, right here, straddling Cas’s thighs atop a buttery yellow comforter adorned with little pink, blue, and purple embroidered flowers and cutesy buzzing bees is home.

“Cas, I-,” He chokes on the words. He can feel it, welling up inside of him, from the tips of his toes to the ends of his fingers and clawing at the back of his throat, choking him- drowning him in it. His throat closes up and he  _ can’t _ .

“It’s okay,” Cas murmurs, petting Dean’s cheek. “It’s okay,” he promises, bringing up the other hand to cradle Dean’s face proper and bring him down to meet his lips. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Cas coaxes him onto the bed proper and lays him down on his back, switching their positions. Dean immediately feels bad for getting his nasty sweat-soaked clothes on the nice new bedding, but Cas doesn’t seem to care. He takes his time, removing first Dean’s shirt and then his own and while he does that Dean undoes his jeans and works them down his thighs as far as he can with Cas on top of him.

When he reaches forward to get Cas started on removing his own pants, Cas stops him, stilling his hands by lightly taking them in his own and moving them to rest above his head on the pillows. Dean’s heart starts to race.

Cas moves with a fluid efficiency as he works Dean’s pants down his legs, taking his time and peppering his bare skin with light presses of his lips. He caresses the soft skin of Dean’s inner thigh, eliciting a strangled gasp from Dean. Cas looks up at Dean through his eyelashes and reaches for the waistband of Dean’s boxers.

Dean lifts his hips, allowing Cas to slide them down to where his pants are crumpled around his ankles and then they’re both in a heap on the floor. Cas removes his own pants and boxers without fanfare and crawls back onto the bed over Dean’s legs. Dean shifts uncomfortably.

“My, umm…” Cas looks at him. “I need to take off my socks.”

“Why?” Cas asks, but nonetheless backs up and begins to work off Dean’s socks, gross and crusty after a day of hard work. Dean tries to hide his embarrassment.

“Can’t have sex with socks on,” he mutters. “It’s weird.”

Cas grins at him, bemused. “You’re a strange man, Dean Winchester. Shall I remove mine as well?”

“If you want.” Dean’s not gonna tell the guy how to live, but if one of those crunchy things rubs up on his leg, he’s done. He’s not going to be able to keep it up through that.

Cas doesn’t ask again, instead, he simply removes his socks and gets back in bed.

Dean tips his head back, lips parted in a soundless gasp as Cas lightly caresses every inch of his legs, his fingertips reverent in their exploration while his mouth kisses, sucks, and licks the sensitive skin between Dean’s thighs making him writhe.

Cas nips his hipbone. Bucking his hips, Dean gasps Cas’s name and warmth floods through him, expectant and wired, and his cock thickens. Cas’s movements become more focused, his fingerprints scoring themselves into Dean’s hips as he sucks a bruise onto his thigh so close to his dick his nose brushes the side of his ball sack.

Dean’s hand finds Cas’s hair, only for Cas to sit up with a frown and take Dean’s wrist and put his hand back over his head.

“Cas-,”

Cas moves to straddle Dean’s middle, his cock resting hot and heavy on Dean’s chest, and shuts Dean up with his mouth over his, ravaging his lips. Dean gets a hand around Cas’s dick, but Cas slaps him away with an impatient sound in the back of his throat and goes up on his knees to pin both of Dean’s hands over his head with one of his own. He glares at Dean, hovering over his face.

“No touching,” he orders. “I am going to take you apart and you are going to lay there and let me. Do you understand?”

Dean’s dick twitches against his stomach. He swallows thickly, mouth dry, and nods.

“Good.”

Cas drops his head to press a bruising kiss to Dean’s lips and then moves to kiss down his throat, nipping and scraping his teeth as he goes. Dean’s breath catches on a particularly forceful bite. Cas repeats the action, eliciting a moan from Dean. He lifts his hips, but there’s no relief.

Cas sucks a dark pink blotch onto Dean’s pectoral and then flicks his tongue over Dean’s nipple. Dean arches his back, gasping wordlessly as he latches his lips around the sensitive bud and rolls it between his teeth. A string of swear words whistles from between Dean’s clenched teeth. Cas finally releases the nipple and Dean sags into the bed.

“You’re gonna kill me.”

Cas ignores him and moves to repeat the process for the other nipple. He delves into his exploration of Dean’s body, worshipping every inch. By the time he’s fitting his lips over the head of Dean’s cock, Dean is in shambles, crying out and straining to touch, to feel, to do anything to release the pent-up desire coursing through him and turning every muscle in his body into a quivering mess. His legs are pinned under Cas’s kneeling body while his wrists are firmly held at his sides. Cas is relentless.

The warmth of Cas’s tongue circling his head is nearly his undoing.

“Please, Cas, please. I need-,” he cuts out with an abrupt shuddering exhalation as Cas sinks his mouth down on his cock until the head is pressing into the back of his throat. “Jesus,” Dean croaks, mouth wide as he fails to breathe. “Jesus, Cas.”

Cas bobs his head once, twice, and then he’s deepthroating Dean’s cock down into the tight heat of his throat, sending a stream of curses out of Dean as his hips thrust involuntarily. Cas chokes and releases Dean’s wrists to hold down his hips instead. Dean’s hands immediately find Cas’s thick dark hair.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Dean gasps, heart rampaging behind his ribs. “I wasn’t expecting- God, Cas. Holy shit.” He tugs lightly at Cas’s hair. “Come here. Please, I just- I need- God, I need you Cas, please.”

Cas sucks hard as he slips off, making Dean’s eyes roll back in his head and his mouth falls open. He shudders as the cool air of the room hits his damp cock. Cas’s hands are still pinning his hips. His legs are trembling.

“Can I ride you?”

Dean laughs mirthlessly. What kind of question is that?

“I want to touch,” he stipulates, opening his eyes. Cas is taking him in, his hair sex mussed, face and chest flushed while his blue eyes are wide and pupils blown as he lets his gaze wander Dean’s naked body. Dean’s hands twitch.

“I want to do this for you, Dean.”

Dean laughs breathlessly. “Dude, it’s been amazing. You’ve been amazing, but I’m going crazy here. Please, let me make sure you feel good too.”

Cas considers him for a long moment before finally, he nods. Dean releases a breath and excitement trips through his veins. “I wanna work you open.”

Cas’s eyes darken and he nods again. Dean doesn’t waste another moment. There’s a furious itch under his skin that can only be scratched by the hot tight constriction of Cas’s pert ass. They haven’t done this often, both typically preferring Cas as the pitcher to Dean’s catcher, but it’s still amazing sex.

Cas moves off Dean and fetches the lube from the top drawer of the dresser before returning to the bed. Now that they’re rich swanky sons of bitches they should invest in a couple nightstands- no more of this  _ leaving the bed _ bullshit. Dean accepts the lube and slicks up two fingers as he gets to his knees, cock heavy and thick between his legs, and makes room for Cas to lay down. Cas lays down on his stomach and Dean tuts.

“I want to watch,” he insists, lightly shoving at his shoulder with his clean hand. Cas flips onto his back and when he spreads his legs, Dean’s heart stutters in his chest. He drags his slickened fingers along the cleft of Cas’s ass as Cas watches and slowly circles his hole with his index finger. When Cas tips his head back, moaning Dean slowly inserts his first finger. Cas’s dick throbs and he clenches the blanket in his fists as he shudders. Dean holds still to let him adjust and presses a series of open-mouthed kisses trailing from Cas’s left hip to his dick where he licks away the beading precome. Cas bucks his hips.

“Move,” he growls and Dean is happy to oblige. He takes it slow, happy to reciprocate the exquisite torture Cas put him through. He slides his finger in and out at an agonizingly slow pace.

“Dean,” Cas moans. Dean crooks his finger and Cas’s breathing stutters. He inserts the second finger and Cas presses down into his hand, impatient. Dean scissors his fingers, feeling his own dick leaking pre-cum down the shaft. Cas growls and fucks himself down on Dean’s hand, making Dean’s cock throb painfully. Fuck it. He can’t do this. He doesn’t have Cas’s restraint.

He dumps more lube on his fingers and inserts a third. Cas cries out and thrust down on the fingers.

“Fuck, Cas, you look so good.” The words spill out of Dean’s mouth without censorship as he pumps his fingers, spreading and stretching Cas’s hole. “I want to fuck you so bad. I want to watch as my cock disappears into your hot, tight ass and I wanna watch you fall to pieces and cum all over my chest and then I’m gonna lay you out on the bed and I’m going to fuck you.”

With a sudden lurch, Cas pulls off of Dean’s fingers and rolls to his knees, pushing Dean onto his back in the same motion. Dean scrambles to stay on the bed, but Cas grabs him by the hips and yanks him down so he’s centered.

“I’m ready.”

Dean’s cock pulses painfully and he supposes that means he’s ready too. He hopes he can last long enough to keep his promises. Cas straddles Dean’s waist and reaches behind him to wrap his hand around Dean’s cock and guide it to his hole. The moment his head pushes through, Dean is lost in his babbling once again.

“ _ Fuck _ , Cas, you feel so good. Oh, yeah, you’re so tight. You’re so good to me, baby.”

Cas is fully seated now, cheeks spread and hole stretched tight around the base of Dean’s cock.

“Say it again.”

Dean has to reroute some blood back to his brain to remember what he said, but it doesn’t take more than a second for him to catch on.

“Baby, you feel so good.” With a shudder, Cas starts to move and Dean’s eyes roll back in his skull. “Oh, my God. Cas, baby. Yeah, fuck yourself on me. All the way. You’re so tight. So hot.”

Cas thrusts down sharply, surprising a gasp out of Dean. “Keep talking.”

Words tumble from between Dean’s lips, unpracticed and unrestricted, and entirely lost to him as he smothers himself in the feel of Cas’s flesh against him, the soft gasps and moans that he can pull from Cas’s throat with only a slight adjustment of his hips, and the head rush that hits him when Cas cums with a wrenched cry all over Dean’s chest. He babbles nonsense, petting at Cas’s thighs and his trembling arms as he comes down from his climax.

Cas unseats himself, pulling a groan from deep in Dean’s throat as his pulsing, over-sensitized dick is rubbed in all the right places on its way out. Then Cas is collapsing onto his stomach and Dean rolls over on top of him kissing and licking his way up Cas’s spine.

“Ready, baby?”

Cas nods then fists his hands into the blankets beside his head as Dean sinks back into him with a sigh. Dean warms up with a few slow shallow thrusts that make shudders run down his spine. Cas growls into the pillow and thrusts back.

“You said you would-,” Cas cuts off with a choked cry as Dean slams into him again and again until Cas clenches around him and he’s spilling his load with Cas’s name on his lips. He falls forward, Cas’s slick cum on his chest smearing between them and catches his breath as his body quakes with aftershocks. Not long after, Cas nudges him and he pulls out with a groan to scrabble around for a semi-clean shirt. The ones they wore today are too gross so Dean ends up grabbing a clean on out of his duffle and wiping down Cas first, his back, his ass, and between his legs and then himself.

When he finally climbs back into bed Cas reaches blindly for him, already looking half asleep, and pulls him until their naked bodies are flush, with Cas cradling every inch of him. Cas sighs into the back of Dean’s neck and Dean unknowingly mimics him before he drifts off to the feeling of Cas drawing senseless shapes against his ribs.


	12. Chapter Twelve

The first night spent in the house is quiet. After Charlie and Jo drop off Claire they eat dinner at the kitchen table on real dishes with real silverware and then putz around, none of them really knowing what to do with their free time in the big empty house that’s  _ theirs _ . Dean washes the dishes and complies a major shopping list in his head. Now that they can afford it, they need a couch, maybe a recliner too, definitely a TV, and if they’re going to go that route, they may as well throw in cable and Wi-Fi. Also, Netflix.

Is that going too far? Is it considered frivolous overspending to have Netflix  _ and _ cable? Does one truly need Netflix if they have cable? Or maybe they should skip cable and stick with Netflix. Since when are there so many options? Is this what having money is always like? How does anyone ever make decisions? How do they get anything done with all of this luxury?

Lying in bed in the dark with Cas curled up against his side snoring softly, Dean is wide awake staring at the ceiling. It’s nearly silent, the quiet only broken by the soft sound of the wind blowing through the trees, Cas’s breathing, and the very occasional car driving by. Even the cicadas have called it a night and ceased their infernal screaming.

He hadn’t realized how acclimated he’d gotten to the sounds of traffic passing by just outside his motel room, or else the singing of bullfrogs, crickets, and whatever other wildlife happened to be nearby when he’d pull over the Impala for a short kip. This neighborhood is dead compared to that. It’s possible that his little nap earlier (after some fantastic sex that’s been a long time coming) could be what’s keeping him up, but he’s pretty damn sure it’s the thick, smothering, soul-crushing silence.

Moving carefully, he manages to dislodge Cas and slip out of bed without waking him. He tiptoes down the stairs, avoiding the more vocal spots out of habit rather than memory. Then, with a quick flip of the lock on the kitchen door and a sharp turn of the knob, he’s outside.

It’s like the world gets turned back on as sound comes rushing back and he can breathe again. There are the crickets and the birds, the squeak of a bat, a rustle of underbrush caused by a raccoon or perhaps an opossum. There are lights on in the house directly behind theirs and he can hear the faint whine of a cello coming from that direction. If he focuses, he can even hear the distant rush of late-night traffic on the busy four-lane road a few blocks away.

He drops down onto the top step of the porch and rests his head tiredly against the railing. How sad would it be if he slept in his car in the driveway?

“Pretty fucking sad,” he muses aloud.

He sits outside for an hour before he finally feels tired enough to sleep, but when he crawls back into bed and pulls the blanket up to his chin the silence is back, as solid and overbearing as ever.

“Fuck it.”

He rips off the covers, startling Cas awake with a snort, but Dean ignores his bleary-eyed offense and rolls out of bed. He stomps over to the window and jerks it open, sighing in relief when the sounds of the night filter through.

“Dean?”

He crawls back into bed where Cas is looking up at him with concern, flat on his back and curls around him, holding him tight while Cas pats his arm with a questioning look.

“’s too quiet here,” he says into the warm skin of Cas’s shoulder.

Cas’s hand stills as he ponders Dean’s mumbled words with a grave slant to his mouth. He turns onto his side and wraps his arm around Dean’s waist so they’re holding each other, Dean tucked against his chest. He drops a kiss to Dean’s hair.

“We’ll fix it,” he promises, voice like gravel.

Dean rubs his nose lightly along Cas’s collarbone. “’m sorry.” Cas holds him tighter.

“You have no reason to apologize. We knew before we came here it would be an adjustment. Just being here together is enough.”

Dean lets out a pent-up breath. “M’kay.” He settles in, relaxing into Cas’s chest and closes his eyes. Cas cards a lazy hand through his hair and Dean is asleep within minutes.

.

~*~

.

The next day, Cas announces over breakfast that he’s going to walk to the library and work on building his resume. Dean’s stomach drops at the reminder that he’s going to have to join the workforce legitimately, but he buries the thought and makes a mental note to get started on the whole wifi thing and to take them all out laptop shopping when they get the chance. Cas and Dean had talked about it of course, getting jobs. Neither of them need to work, but Cas was adamant that he wouldn’t be happy without something to do and Dean agreed. Turns out neither of them are content being a trophy wif- husba- boyfr-  _ partner _ .

Jesus.

They decided Cas could start looking now while Dean continues to put his efforts into fixing up the house. Thank God. Within a week, Dean has the porch dismantled and the first coat of sunlit meadow slapped on. It’s growing on him with the cream-colored trim to mellow it out, but he’ll be damned if he’s going to admit that out loud. Cas gets calls to two interviews, but in the end, he’s only offered the job for one of them and he turns them down. In the interview, they let slip there would be mandatory overtime and as Cas said, they can afford to be picky despite dropping $100,000 of Cas’s fortune into a college fund for Claire. What a novelty, right? Dean’s not sure having this kind of cash will ever stop blowing his mind.

When the first week of August rolls around, they make the trip to the high school to enroll Claire. Dean tries to beg off going, saying it’d be weird for her dad’s fuck buddy to tag along, but Cas skewers him with a no-nonsense glare and points out that they’re more than ‘fuck buddies’ (he uses finger quotes and everything) and that Dean can show her around and maybe pique her interest in going to school. Neither Dean nor Claire are too impressed with that plan, but they keep their mouths shut and do as they’re told.

It’s not as painful as Dean expected. Mercifully, they don’t run into anyone who remembers him and they all make it out unscathed. He even remembers to keep to himself the story of how he and Charlie met, sneaking out the unmonitored kitchen door where they parted ways only to run into each other again an hour later at the hospital; Charlie was there visiting her comatose mom for her birthday and Dean needed to break out a freshly healed Sam after he broke his arm while John was out of town. Turns out there are some things you can’t walk away from without becoming best friends and breaking a drugged-up minor out of a hospital in the middle of the day is one of them. After that, it was only a matter of time until Dean invited Charlie to hang out with him and Jo and that was the end of that. He became the third wheel from then on.

Anyway, clueing Claire in on his many escapades would not be setting the kind of example Cas is angling towards, even if they are really good stories. He still doesn’t know how he’s going to break it to him that he’s a dropout.  _ If  _ he breaks it to him. If everything goes his way, it’ll be a secret he takes with him to the grave. Although, when Cas starts bringing home printouts from the library Dean begins to wonder if it’ll be possible.

They bought laptops, one for Claire and one for him and Cas to share, but Cas still prefers going to the library. Something about the peaceful environment stimulating his concentration or whatever. Dean thinks it’s just cuz he doesn’t like it when Dean reads over his shoulder. Whatever the reason, he goes to the library and brings home these printouts of job listings he thinks Dean should apply for. Dean makes shit up about why he doesn’t think he’d be a good fit, but in reality, he doesn’t qualify for a single one of them and with each printout Cas brings home he starts to hate the phrase “high school diploma or equivalent” and himself a little more.

As a distraction, he throws himself into putting the house back together. Cas got the ball rolling with the mattresses, bedding, bath décor, and that hideous area rug in the living room, but he fizzles out pretty quickly on the necessary purchases after that and devolves into sporadic garage sale buys, bringing home odds and ends, but nothing of real value (what the fuck he expected Dean to want with a Chihuahua shaped taco holder is beyond him). So Dean takes it upon himself to continue the process of filling out their house.

He ends up going for cable, internet, and Netflix. Hell, maybe he’ll get a Hulu account too. If him and Cas are both going to be working on top of the small fortune they have stashed away in the bank, why the hell not? The living room is finished now, complete with an oversized sectional, an HD TV mounted to the wall, a bookshelf he picked up from a garage sale (hey at least his garage sale purchases are good ones), the ugly rug, and the god-awful table from Dean’s childhood- the one with his and Sam’s initials carved into the top.

Dean learns very quickly that Cas is an eccentric shopper and not to be trusted with even the simplest grocery lists. He makes the mistake of asking Cas to stop at the store on his way home from the library exactly once before he resigns himself to the role. It makes sense since he’s the one doing the majority of the cooking and so he knows what’s needed, but he’d (foolishly) thought he could count on Cas to pick up a few things and save Dean the trip.

The single potato, bag of shredded lettuce, spray can of whipped cream, and half-gallon of strawberry milk he returns with tell him otherwise.

“What the fuck, Cas?”

Cas blinks at him. “Is this… not what you asked for?”

Shaking the whipped cream, Dean asks, “I asked for heavy cream, Cas.”

“It says heavy on the can.”

Dean checks the can and lo and behold, so it does. “Okay, but it also says ‘whipped’ and that makes it totally different. What I needed was pourable, not sprayable.”

“Oh.” Cas squints at the can. “I understand.”

“And why did you get pink milk?” Dean cannot fathom why on earth pink milk even exists in the first place, but here it is on his kitchen counter. And they paid money for it.

“I thought Claire would enjoy it,” Cas says with a small smile. “It looks fun.”

Dean sighs and scrubs a hand down his face. Sometimes he swears Cas forgets his kid is a teenager now. He wonders how different Claire would be had she been allowed to grow up on strawberry milk because it looked fun and ceramic chihuahua shaped taco holders because they were on sale, two for five dollars. He shuts down that avenue of thought fairly quickly. It’s too depressing to dwell on.

“Yeah, well, we’ll see how fun she thinks it is in her Cocoa Puffs tomorrow morning.”

“Oh,” Cas says looking at the milk like he hadn’t realized the flavor of the pink milk should be a factor. Dean fights back a smile and looks at the rest of Cas’s haul. He sighs.

“What am I supposed to do with one potato, man?”

Cas straightens his shoulders. “That’s what it said on your list. One potato.”

Dean raises his eyebrows and digs his phone out of his pocket, bringing up his text history with Cas before passing it to him. Cas reads aloud confidently, “Milk, heavy cream, lettuce, and a…”

“Tomato,” Dean finishes for him. He holds out his hand for his phone and Cas dejectedly hands it over.

“I’m sorry, Dean.” He turns puppy-dog eyes that rival Sam’s upon him. “At least I got the lettuce right.”

Dean frowns at the sad sagging sack of lettuce on his countertop and decides to throw Cas a bone. “Yeah. Thanks for the lettuce.”

Cas beams.

That night, instead of burgers and the chocolate peanut butter truffle pie Dean promised would turn around Claire’s anti-pie problem (who doesn’t like pie???), they eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. 

The next day, Cas is at the library (again) and Jo and Claire are holed up in Claire’s room with Claire’s laptop when Dean throws in the towel (or in this case the hammer) and decides to take a break from reassembling the porch to make a grocery run to pick up what Cas didn’t get the day before. He gets as far as the front door before he doubles back, figuring he should ask the girls if they want anything before he goes. He’d hate to drag out the simple run into three trips.

Claire opens her door after he knocks and his first look at his old room since she finished decorating it leaves him gaping. He was expecting the dark, almost black of the paint he saw her carting up here on Day One, but instead, it’s all blues and dark purples with bright spots of yellow, tiny pinpricks of white, and splotches of pink. It’s like the milky way is swirling around on her walls.

“Holy shit.”

Dean steps fully into the room, jaw hanging loosely as he cranes his neck to look up at the ceiling. That’s where the dark paint went apparently. If he squints he can see something faint laced over the top of the black, barely there, whitish… something.

“Glow-in-the-dark constellations,” Jo supplies with a hint of pride.

Dean looks over at her, cross-legged on the bed with the laptop perched on her authentically ripped jeans with a shit eating grin on her face. Dean turns to Claire, still standing by the door, head ducked to hide a pleased smirk.

“Did you do this yourself?”

She shrugs and rubs her bare arm and the strap of her tank top slips off her shoulder.

“Dad helped with the ceiling.” She adjusts her strap and snorts. “Well, he tried anyway.”

Dean remembers hosing the black goo out of his Cas’s hair, but he can’t step past his awe of Claire’s skill to properly mock him with her.

“This is amazing, Claire. It’s like it’s not even the same room.”

He’s lived pretty much his whole life in this room (barring those few years between four and nine when dad dragged him and Sammy around the country with him selling tools until Sam was old enough to need to go to school and Dean was old enough to get him there), but if he didn’t know it was his walking in, he wouldn’t recognise it. “You even patched the hole Sam kicked in the wall when he thought he could be a gymnast. 

Jo snorts. “Forgot about that phase.”

Grinning, Dean says, “He was the most awkward, gangliest, fifteen year old ever. I don’t know what he was thinking.”

“Sam’s your brother, right?” Claire asks. She drops down on the edge of her bed, bouncing. “Where is he?”

Despite himself, Dean lights up like he always does when he gets the barest excuse to brag about his little brother. “He’s at Stanford training up to be a hotshot lawyer. Managed to get a full ride, the nerd.”

Claire hums and picks at the frayed ends of her cutoffs without looking up. “So he’s the golden boy, what does that make you? The family disappointment?”

Dean takes the blow to the teeth.

“Dude!” Jo kicks at Claire’s hip, but she shrugs.

“Just a joke,” she mutters.

Jo glares at the back of her head then looks up at Dean.

“Dean-,”

He hitches up a smile, too little too late but it’s all he has, and ignores the fire burning up his lungs in his chest. “Teenagers, right?” he says too loudly into the silence of the house. “Anyway, not what I would’ve done with the place, but it turned out alright.”

Jo purses her lips but rolls with the deflection. “Yeah, well, luckily enough, a girl’s bedroom is no place for a man’s opinion.”

“Gee, thanks for making me feel dirty.” Dean shakes his head. “Anyway, I’m going to the store. Any requests?”

“Ice cream,” Jo says. Claire stays silent, staring at her lap.

“Claire? Anything?” Dean presses.

“A redo button?” she grumbles, lifting her head to scowl at him. Dean plasters on another fake smile.

“Sorry, kiddo, I’m on a budget. Maybe next time.” He backs towards the door. “Umm, I won’t be too long.”

“See ya.” Jo waves. Claire goes back to picking at her shorts and Dean lets himself out.

He isn’t running away, he tells himself as he starts up the Impala and sets off down the street at a fast clip. Nope. He had these plans first, thank you very much. He wasn’t gutted by a teenage girl in his childhood bedroom. Not at all. Nope. It’s not like it wasn’t something he was already thinking anyway.

Instead of taking a right at the light, he takes a left, heading for a different grocery store than the one he’s been frequenting for the past month or so. It’s a few miles farther, but it’ll be worth it to avoid having to pretend like nothing’s wrong to the few employees who are beginning to recognize him as a regular. He doesn’t want to have to smile and make small talk with Susan at the front door, or Juan at the deli, or Tony at the register. He simply doesn’t have it in him today.

It doesn’t take long to begin to regret his cowardice. He parks and walks up to the front of the store only to realize this is one of those places that requires a quarter in order to unchain a cart from the corral. He makes an abrupt about-face and spends the next five minutes digging through the Impala for a quarter. He finds three dimes, a nickel, four pennies, and a stale Dorito under the passenger seat that he makes a mental note to give Cas hell about later.

Tragically, the quarter-sized slot in the cart specifically requires a quarter so his 39 cents means bupkis. He’s contemplating suffering through the trip with only a handbasket when a small, accented voice behind him says, “Excuse me, sir?”

Dean narrowly avoids crashing his head into the lid of his trunk as he startles, whirling about to find a small brown skinned boy in a worn Green Bay Packers t-shirt and thin, but clean khaki shorts looking up at him solemnly. Dean stares.

“Uh, hi.”

This kid can’t be older than nine- too young to be galavanting around a parking lot on his own. A quick glance around reveals a woman in a brilliant red hijab that matches her well-worn faux leather jacket and her shoes standing beside an old Honda Accord with a baby on her hip and a young girl peeking out from behind her ripped jean-clad legs. She’s noticeably anxious, but trying not to appear that way. Dean lifts a hand in greeting and she relaxes a little, nodding back.

“My mom asked me to give you this.”

Dean returns his attention to the boy to find him holding out a quarter in the palm of his little hand. Dean fights back a blush. They must have been watching his fruitless search for a single quarter and taken pity on him.

“Thanks, buddy.” Dean accepts the offering and then has a thought. “Hold on just a second.”

The boy looks unsure, glances back at his mother, but stays put while Dean hunches back into the trunk and snatches up the crumpled one-dollar bill he’d just unearthed from the bottom of an old duffel bag and puts it and his long fought for 39 cents into the boy’s outstretched hand.

The kid lights up. “Wow! Thanks!”

Dean grins but resists the urge to ruffle the boy’s hair. “Share with your sister, alright? Does your mom speak English?”

The boy frowns and shakes his head. “She tries. It is difficult.”

“Hey, that’s okay,” Dean is quick to reassure him. “Will you tell her Dean says thank you?”

The boy’s smile returns and he nods.

“What’s your name?”

“Hamal.”

Dean sticks out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Hamal. Thanks for helping me out.”

Hamal shakes his hand eagerly, gripping his bounty tightly in the opposite fist.

“Nice to meet you, Dean!”

Dean can’t help the wide smile that cracks across his face as Hamal hurries back to his mom and sisters, chattering excitedly in their native tongue and showing her his money. She says something to him and pats his head before straightening and waving to Dean with a smile. Dean returns the wave and closes his trunk, leaving the family to pile into their Honda as he heads up to the store for the second time, this time prepared.

He inserts his quarter into the slot on the handlebar and the chain binding it to the other carts pops loose allowing him to wheel out his cart and make for the front door.  _ Finally _ . He wheels through the store, mentally going over his list and adding a few things to get them through the weekend.

In hindsight, he’s not sure what makes him look up. He hears a voice in standard customer service tone tell someone to have a nice day. He turns towards the voice without a thought and promptly trips over his feet. It’s  _ her _ . It’s the squatter, the homeless girl that he chased out of his house when they first arrived. Holy shi-

His cart slams into an aluminum bin full of peanuts. The handle punches him in the gut as the clang of metal on metal reverberates through the store. Everyone stops to stare as he tries to force air into his tortured lungs. He waves off the employee hurrying forward with a gasped, “I’m fine.”

Face aflame, he flicks his eyes over to the girl and meets her stare. She goes stiff and twitches back. Dean’s sure she recognizes him and is poised to make a run for it. “Sorry,” he says weakly, unable to get enough air to project his voice across the room, but she must understand because she squares her shoulders and narrows her eyes.

“Sorry,” Dean says again with a sheepish smile to the room at large. He pushes off with his cart, heading down an aisle at random and slowly everyone goes back to their shopping. He takes a careful breath, his ribs protesting, but not to the point where he might have broken something.

His mind races as he grabs a box off the shelf and tosses it into the cart without looking at it. Should he confront her? Should he apologize? He doesn’t want to freak her out or scare her off, but what if she’s on the street because of him? Obviously, she’s trying hard to make it work, but how much is for show? How much trouble is she really in? Is there anyone out there for her to fall back on if things get really bad? What’s she going to do when the weather turns?

He has to do something. He’s not going to take the chance of seeing her face on the news under a depressing caption about the teen runaway found dead under a bridge. He spins his cart back around the way he came, haphazardly grabbing things off the shelves as he goes. When his cart is half full he makes his way to the end of the girl’s line behind two other people.

“I can help you over here,” the older woman one lane over offers. Dean looks up wide-eyed at her empty lane then glances back to the guy in front of him who already has his cart emptied onto the conveyor belt while the woman in front of him pays.

“I uh, I’m okay actually.”

He winces as the woman lifts her eyebrows and stares him down cooly. He swallows thickly.

“It’s uh- I know her,” he explains hurriedly, gesturing vaguely at the girl at the register. “She’s friends with my daughter.” The lady’s eyebrows creep higher and she glances between the teenager and Dean’s dumb 26-year-old self. “Step-daughter,” he explains hurriedly. “I got a thing for older men.”

A slow dawning horror descends over him as the woman’s mouth pops open into a shocked ‘O’ of understanding and he realizes he just outed himself to a 65-year-old woman at the grocery store along with whoever else was in hearing range.

Fuuuuuck. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuccckkkk. Fuck.

The woman hurriedly busies herself with cleaning her station while Dean tries to ignore the way his brain is screaming and his soul is decaying in his chest. The man in front of him glances back, but when they make eye contact he hurriedly faces front once more and shuffles forward until he’s crowding the poor woman trying to pay.

Dean wants to die.

The wait is agonizing. The man in front of him keeps as much distance as possible between them while Dean unloads the contents of his cart onto the conveyor belt, like given half the chance Dean might start humping his leg or something. He’s not even good-looking. Imagine your typical white, middle-aged suburban dad and that’s this guy down to the white crew socks poking out of his leather velcro strapped sandals.  _ Gag _ . Any moment he’s going to crack a dad joke or call someone ‘sport’.

Finally, the Mr. Mom pays and practically runs for the exit, leaving whats-her-face holding his forgotten receipt with an expression of annoyed befuddlement. All the while, not a single customer goes through the lane next door. The older woman is now rearranging the candy display with her back to Dean.

“Did you find everyth-,” The girl looks up and freezes, her dark brown eyes wide and wary. The name tag pinned to her green apron says “Christine,” but Dean knows better than to trust it.

“Uh, yeah…” Dean clears his throat. “Thanks.”

She shoots him one more distrustful glare before she shakes her head to move a stray lock of hair that escaped her low ponytail and starts ringing through his items. Dean shifts uncomfortably. The old lady still isn’t looking at them, but he can almost feel the concentration ebbing off of her as she attempts to eavesdrop on their nonexistent conversation.

Finally, another customer arrives at her line, effectively drawing her attention away from Dean.

“$71.96,” the girl tells him. He scrambles to dig out his debit card and swipes it through the reader without looking at the total.

“Listen,” he says lowly, casting a quick glance at the occupied older woman before turning to lock eyes with the girl’s distrusting stare.

“I’m sorry about before. I didn’t realize… But anyway, if you need anything--anything at all--a shower, a place to crash, a friggin’ sandwich, you know where I live.”

The machine spits out his receipt and he snatches it and a pen off the counter. “Here.” He rushes to scribble his name and number on the back of the receipt and shoves it into her hand. “I’m serious. Anything at all. Call me, text, or just show up, okay?”

She frowns at the paper and opens her mouth, probably to tell him where he can stick his offer, but the old lady finds her balls first.

“Excuse me.”

Dean jumps. The old lady is right there at the end of the lane, holding out a business card. Dean eyes the thing with distaste. Even from a distance, he can make out the large looping script reading, “Jesus forgives!” He keeps his hands at his sides.

“Here.” She waves it at him and her underarm flab belatedly mimics the movement. “Take it. I have one for your, “ her wrinkled lips purse, “...special friend as well.”

Dean’s eye twitches.

“No, thanks. We’re good,” he says, voice gruff.

“I insist,” the lady leans farther over the end of the counter, nearly crushing a bag of Funyuns. “God is the only-,”

Dean’s temper snaps. “Look, lady, we don’t need whatever ‘transformative’ Jesus camp crap you’re peddling, okay? There’s nothing wrong wi-,”

“It’s a sin,” she spits. “Unrepentant sinners go to  _ hell _ .”

Dean smiles at her, all teeth. “Can’t wait to see you there, then.”

He ignores her shocked, open-mouthed outrage and turns to his haphazard pile of groceries. Running a hand through his hair, he hastily searches the immediate area for-

“Bags?” he asks after not finding any. The girl, wide-eyed and close-lipped, points to a box at the beginning of the lane labeled “10 cents each” stuffed full of plastic bags.

“Fuck it,” Dean mutters. He wants out of here like yesterday. He scoops up his purchases into his arms and dumps them with a crash back into the cart.

“I’m serious about that,” he says quickly to the girl, shooting a significant look to the paper crumpled in her fist. “I know a thing or two about how shitty and unfair life can be.”

She doesn’t respond, only glances from him to the old lady now blocking the end of the lane and looking mad as a bull. Pink splotches blot her papery cheeks. He grips the handle of the cart and strides forward.

“You face eternal suffering and damnation,” she snarls, scrambling out of his way lest she get run over.

Dean’s fucking done. “Apparently, my good buddy Satan decided to get a jump-start of the whole suffering bit.” He shoots her a sharp look and heads for the door. Blessedly, she doesn’t follow. Once he’s out the door, he practically runs to the Impala and tosses his groceries into the trunk by the armload: two bags of Funyuns, a bottle of red wine, a box of dog treats, cookies, cucumber melon body wash, a bag of bendy straws…

He slams the trunks shut and shoves the cart out of his way. No way in hell is he going to walk it back up to the store. Nope. Someone else can have the quarter. It’s not like it was his in the first place anyway.

In the Impala he cranks the engine and tears out of the parking lot, driving like a bat out of hell all the way back to the house. Only when he’s safely in his driveway does he cut the engine and drop his head to the steering wheel and let himself try to digest the whole miserable experience.

What a clusterfuck. There’s no way she’s ever going to call. Not a fucking chance.

He stays with his head down until the blood in his veins ceases boiling. Then, with a sigh, he wrestles his way out of the car and wrenches open the trunk. It’s worse than he remembers. His mishmashed assortment of items stares back at him mockingly: rice cakes, gluten-free elbow macaroni, a 15 count package of styrofoam bowls (Cas is gonna kill him), gross knock-off brand peanut butter…

He didn’t get a single thing he actually went out to buy. How is it possible for two grown men to be so woefully inept at grocery shopping?

With a profound sigh, he throws the bowls directly into the trash bin, there’s no sense in getting Cas all riled up, and then gathers his first armload and treks it inside. Three trips later, he returns with the last of it to find Jo and Charlie at the kitchen table poking through the groceries with complementary expressions of mystification.

“Dude,” Jo says when she sees him. “Where’s the ice cream?”

Fuck his life.

.

~*~

.

She doesn’t call. Dean sits on pins and needles for over a week, jumping every time his phone rings because he has it on full volume just in case she calls. He almost has a heart attack when he gets a call from a random number and scrambles to answer it only for it to be a telemarketer. He hangs up without another word.

Cas and Claire are both on red alert, too. Once he got over his embarrassment from the catastrophe that was his grocery shopping experience he sat both of them down in the living room and explained what happened and what he offered, all the while dying on the inside from anxiety. What if he overstepped? What if Cas isn’t prepared to possibly take in another teen when they’re still struggling to connect with the one they’ve got? What if Claire feels like she’s being forced to the side?

Their current situation is so tenuous as it is... What if Dean’s offer puts too much strain on their battered and feebly woven-together family? He could be asking too much. It’s highly possible that he’s asking too much.

Or not. Cas and Claire hardly bat an eyelash except in shock that Dean actually ran across her again. Claire doesn’t have any complaints except to firmly iterate that she will not be sharing her room. New girl can have Sam’s room and Sam will have to tough it out on the couch if he comes by for a visit. Dean thinks that’s fair. He wouldn’t have asked that of her anyway.

Cas is full of concern for the girl’s well-being, asking if she seemed malnourished (a little skinny, but nothing dangerous), or unhappy (she was working  _ retail-  _ of course she seemed unhappy), or if he should stop by with a care package for her (she would actively hate that, he’s pretty sure; please don’t embarrass her at work).

All in all, it goes over better than Dean could have hoped.

His fragile optimism that she’ll call or stop by begins to wane after the first week and by the end of the second he starts putting his phone on silent at night again. He hopes she’s doing okay, wherever she is.


	13. Chapter Thriteen

“So, when’s Bobby gonna stop by?”

Ellen and Jo are wrapping up their first joint visit to the house when Dean finally asks. All of this quality time with the family Dean left behind has him missing the cagey old fart. Ellen lifts an eyebrow.

“You know that old coot. He ain’t coming here ‘til you get out there and visit him first.”

Stubborn old bastard. Dean knows she’s right.

“Figures,” Dean grumbles. “Am I supposed to bring Cas and Claire too?”

“You ain’t stupid. You know the answer to that.”

Dean sighs. As much as Bobby is wanting Dean to stop by, he’s probably more interested in meeting Cas and Claire and would be extra surly if Dean were to stop by without them.

“You’d best get on it,” Ellen warns. “He’s been grumpier than usual wondering if you forgot about him. Longer you put it off, the worse he’s gonna be when you finally bring everyone ‘round.”

Dean pulls a face. Looks like they’re making a trip out to Singer’s Salvage.

.

~*~

.

Bobby loves Claire. When they show up he hardly looks twice at Dean and Cas (partly because he’s pissed at Dean probably) before taking her under his wing and letting her have the run of the scrap yard. Within an hour she has a shotgun in her hands and is shredding through the beer cans set up on the old wood fence out back that Bobby put up a decade and a half prior for expressly this purpose. Only back then Dean and Sam were the troubled youth venting their rage at the world on the poor bullet-riddled fence.

Bobby leaves her to it once she’s gotten into the swing of things and Dean watches from the kitchen window over the sink full of soapy breakfast dishes as he approaches Cas where he watches hawk-like as Claire pegs one can after another down the line, sending each one tumbling inevitably into the weeds. Dean ducks his head and puts some extra elbow grease into the plate he’s scrubbing in an attempt to avoid being noticed.

Outside on the porch, Bobby clears his throat. “Reminds me of Dean when he was a punk-ass teenager.”

Dean chances a glance up and sees Cas turn his stare to Bobby as he asks, “What was Dean like growing up?”

Bobby considers him for a long minute before answering. As quickly as he’s taken a liking to Claire, he’s hesitant to show the same open acceptance towards her father.

“Angry. Stubborn. Thought he had to do everything himself and couldn’t ever bring himself to confide in anybody. That boy carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and wouldn’t listen to nobody who told him he didn’t have to.”  Dean drops his eyes back to the sink and hunches, although he swears he feels eyes on the top of his head. “Heart of gold though. Never like to see anyone suffer if he could do something about it.” Bobby snorts. “Ain’t never seen him quite like this though.”

Dean chances a glance up through the curtains and sees Cas staring at Bobby, riveted.

“He’s softer now. Happy, seems like. Don’t get me wrong, he used to dote on them girls and Sam. He was always the first to know anytime someone was giving one of ‘em a hard time or if they did poor on a test. Hell, even if they were just upset about something, mad at the world, you can bet your bottom dollar Dean would weasel it out of ‘em then set about fixin’ it in his own quiet way- the schoolyard bully would show up with a black eye and zipped lips, a classmate would volunteer out of the blue to tutor.

“One time- I’m not sure to this day what happened- Sam fell in with a bad crowd. Real bad. Drugs, drinking, the whole nine. We all tried talkin’ him around, but he didn’t listen. Them Winchesters are a hard-headed bunch.”

Cas mutters something that Dean can’t quite make out.

“Anyway, it was all over some girl. Idjit. Sam started actin’ real funny. Wasn’t talkin’ to us none, turned down all our dinner invitations. His grades started slippin’, which if you knew Sam, you’d know that’s a bad sign. This went on for months, ‘til finally he stopped goin’ to school altogether. Nobody saw him, not even Dean if I’m not mistaken.

“Dean, he was real quiet about it. Still went to work every day, but wouldn’t tell nobody nothin’ about Sam. He called in his absence every day to the school sayin’ he was sick, but that was a lie. Went on for two weeks then, like nothin’ happened, Sam was back at school tellin’ everyone he had mono but was better now.

“Bullshit, if you ask me. I know those boys. Dean would’ve been antsy and askin’ time off to take care of him, not defensive and basically mute. Then, maybe five days later, there was a strange fire down at the old factory on the west side of town and Ruby, that’s the girl, and her whole crew got charged as adults for arson and was put away. Next time I saw Dean, maybe two days later there was a half-healed burn on his arm.”

“Did you confront him?”

“Who?”

“Dean.”

“Over what? He burnt his arm in a baking mishap, trying his hand at homemade apple pie.”

Dean holds his breath through the long stretch of silence that follows, not daring to lift his head lest he be caught eavesdropping.

Finally, Cas says, “I see.”

“Do you?” Bobby prods. Dean can almost feel the sharp stare no doubt being aimed at Cas. “I’ll tell you what I see. I see a young man who would do literally anything for his family lookin’ to make a family of his own; that’s you and your little girl in case you couldn’t tell. Now, he don’t care much for himself so it ain’t nothin’ for him to set aside his own personal wants and needs and throw himself back into that caretaker role.”

“I’m not letting that happen,” Cas interjects with surprising intensity that has Dean looking up despite his best efforts not to and finds himself caught up in a staredown between Cas and Bobby. He holds his breath for almost a full minute before Bobby finally nods.

“Then we’re done here. You ever held a shotgun before, boy?” He dusts off his hands and steps off the porch, clearly expecting Cas to follow. Cas blinks and belatedly does so.

“I never saw the appeal.”

“City kids,” Bobby scoffs. “Your girl caught on quick, let’s see if she gets that from you.”

Cas says something in response, but they’re too far away now for Dean to make it out. He’s tempted to follow, but he doesn’t way to give himself away. So he watches from afar as Claire steps aside and Bobby gives Cas a quick tutorial on how to hold and shoot a shotgun, then shoves it into Cas’s hands and makes a motion for him to go at it.

Cas examines the gun, familiarizing himself with it before he hefts it up to his shoulder and aims. Bobby says something and Cas corrects his stance, steadies the gun, and fires. He misses, corrects his aim, and doesn’t miss again. Dean watches with his mouth open in a gleeful smile as one by one, Cas blows all six cans off the fence then flips on the safety and passes the gun back to Bobby with a short statement. Dean can’t hear what he says, but judging by the way Claire ducks her head to hide a silent laugh and the way Bobby’s face collapses into a scowl, he’s willing to bet it was good.

Having delivered his no doubt zinging one-liner, Cas turns and heads back for the house giving no time for Dean to duck out of sight. Cas zeros in on him immediately, a smile breaking across his face as he picks up his pace. Caught, Dean flashes him a double thumbs up before pulling the plug to drain the tepid water from the sink and retreating to the table.

A moment later, Cas sweeps in through the back door, drops a kiss onto Dean’s lips, and settles into the chair to his left, quietly and without fanfare calming the unease that had been growing unnoticed in Dean’s chest.

“Nice shootin’, Tex.”

Cas looks at him oddly and Dean wonders if he caught the reference. Knowing Cas, probably not.

“Should I have told him that I was top archer at summer camp for four years in a row?”

A delighted grin splits Dean’s face. “Definitely not.” And then, “You went to summer camp?”

Cas shrugs. “It was a Christian camp, a fruitless attempt by my parents to make me more ‘wholesome’.” Cas makes the quotation marks with his fingers and Dean’s grin sours. Figures.

“So, uh,” Dean searches desperately for a new topic. “Bobby’s something else, huh?”

“He loves you very much,” Cas states like he’s agreeing.

“That’s not what I-,”

“It’s the truth. Over the last couple weeks, I’ve come to realize there are a great many people who love you very much.” Cas is watching him with earnest blue eyes, softened with warmth, but Dean can’t bring himself to meet his stare.

“Yeah, well…” He clears his throat, rubs the back of his neck, and changes the subject. “How’s Claire? She seems like she’s having a good time.”

Cas smiles indulgently. “We’ll have a hard time keeping her away from here, I think.”

“Well, don’t try too hard.” Ellen swoops into the kitchen from the doorway behind Dean, making him jump. She hardly spares them a glance before she starts digging through the pantry. “It does us old farts good to have someone to take care of now and again. Now, wash up and help me peel these potatoes. Dinner ain’t gonna cook itself.”

Dean and Cas jump up and start helping without having to be told twice. Well, after their mild water fight at the sink while washing their hands.

“Children,” Ellen huffs.

“You love us,” Dean quips back.

“God help me, I do. Cas, honey, Dean can handle the taters; could you chop these peppers for me? Not too fine, you hear?”

Bewildered, Cas accepts the offered knife, cutting board, and bag of bell peppers and arranges everything on the table where he sets about slicing the peppers with an intense frown of concentration.

Dean turns back to his pile of potatoes beside the sink, ignoring the knowing look Ellen shoots his way as she takes the pork chops out of the fridge. Still, as he slides the peeler down the length of the potato, he can’t resist peeking over his shoulder at Cas one more time. The seriousness he devotes to the simple take is adorab-

With a hiss, Dean drops everything in the sink, clutching his stinging finger as blood swells from the cut where he caught it with the peeler.

“Didja get yourself?”

“Let me see.”

Dean startles as Cas wraps his hands around Dean’s and brings it close to his face to examine.

“I’m fine.” Dean tries to yank his hand away, but Cas tightens his grip and continues his appraisal.

“You’re fine,” he declares after another moment. Dean scowls and rips his hand away to look at himself.

“That’s what I said.”

“You’ll need a bandage though. You’re bleeding,” Cas continues, unheeding.

“I don’t need-,”

“Dean Winchester, I will not have you bleeding all over my potatoes. Band-Aids are in the cabinet over the bathroom sink, Cas.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Harvelle-Singer.”

Ellen snorts inelegantly. “None of that now. It’s Ellen to you.”

“Thank you, Ellen,” Cas says with a polite nod. He strides out of the room and Dean follows, hot on his heels.

“I can do it myself,” he insists.

“I’m aware,” Cas says. He rounds the corner into the bathroom and flips the light switch, illuminating the squat olive green toilet off to the far right and the narrow porcelain sink under the mirrored cabinet. Cas pops open the cabinet and plucks out the box of Band-Aids and a tube of Neosporin.

“You should rinse it first.”

“I know basic first aid,” Dean snaps and shoulders past Cas to get to the sink. By the time Dean finishes rinsing and drying his finger, Cas has the bandage prepped and ready to apply.

“I can do it myself,” Dean repeats.

“I want to help.”

“You can help by letting me do it.”

Cas says nothing and they stare each other down furiously. Finally, Dean pushes out an irate breath and raises his finger for Cas to treat, taking small solace that it’s his middle finger. It doesn’t faze Cas and within moments the bandage is securely wrapped around Dean’s cut. Cas bestows a light kiss to the area before relinquishing Dean’s hand.

“You are such a weirdo,” he complains, but Cas’s self-satisfied smile draws the corners of his lips up.

“Ugh.” Claire arrives in the doorway. “You guys are gross.”

“Your face is gross,” Dean retaliates.

Claire raises her eyebrows, unimpressed, then smirks as Ellen’s raised voice carries from the kitchen, “Dean Winchester, act your age!”

“How did she hear that?” he stage whispers.

“I’m a mother!”

Claire laughs while Dean’s eyes widen in amazement. “Go make goo-goo eyes at each other somewhere else,” she orders. “Apparently, it’s illegal to eat while reeking of gunpowder.” She doesn’t bother to lower her voice.

“Hey,” Dean says, stepping into the hallway with Cas on his heels. “Count yourself lucky she didn’t use the wooden spoon. She’s lethal with that thing.”

Claire lifts her right hand to show a faint pink oval on the back of her hand. Dean clucks his tongue in sympathy.

“Well, welcome to the family.”

Claire rolls her eyes. “Gee, thanks,” she says and disappears into the bathroom.

Cas makes sure to stop Dean with another kiss, a real kiss before they return to the kitchen where Dean has an even more difficult time keeping his eyes off of him.

.

~*~

.

Dean’s first clue that Olive Garden isn’t the fancy restaurant he’s been led to believe is when a half-eaten breadstick lands in his ravioli. It isn't his.   
  
To be fair though, the guy who threw it retrieves it and apologies, taking a moment to make a joke about Italians and talking with their hands before taking another bite of said breadstick and retreating to his table. A moment later the whole table explodes into laughter as it’s been doing at smaller and smaller intervals as the night progresses and the wine flows.   
  
In hindsight, Dean’s first clue that Olive Garden isn’t actually high class should have been the beat-up Dodge Neon full of fast food wrappers that he drove past in the parking lot or maybe the pair of young twenty-something girls cackling over a fart joke at the bar. Even the distant, yet ever-present wailing cry of a (as of yet unseen) baby could have tipped him off. It’s been going on so long it’s become part of the ambiance of the meal. But no. It took a literal breadstick falling from the sky and splattering him with marinara sauce to get him to think maybe this celebratory night out isn’t going quite as well as he’d hoped.

They’re supposed to be celebrating the end to Cas’s job search. It only took him seven interviews, three-and-a-half weeks, and countless hours at the library, but he did it. He got hired on at a neat little desk job at a big-time financial company that provides paid time off, health, dental, and vision insurance, and volunteer time off. So, obviously, Dean wanted to make a big deal out of it. Hence, the Olive Garden.

Privately, it’s also a high-calorie meal for Dean to mourn the end of a couple of sex-charged weeks where he and Cas had the house to themselves while Claire was (presumably) at school, or (not so presumably) causing trouble if the notes she keeps bringing home are anything to go by. If unlimited breadsticks can’t ease his heartache, nothing can.

“So,” Claire says around a mouthful of tiramisu, “Dad is the working man of the house now and I’m obviously the rebellious teenager.” She turns to Dean with a playful smirk curling her lips. “What does that make you?” She leans in and stage whispers, “The kept man?”

Dean’s stomach drops.

“Claire,” Cas snaps.

Claire sits back with a scowl and hunches over her dessert. “It was a joke.”

“No one is rushing Dean to get a job. He’ll get one when he’s ready.” Cas nods like it’s been written into law and steals a bite of Dean’s ice cream. Dean lets him. He’s not hungry anymore. He’s got an itch under his skin, but he ignores it and takes another bite of his ice cream anyway.

.

~*~

.

It’s quiet.

The morning started off as chaotic as always: Cas fighting with his tie, Claire fighting for another five minutes of sleep, and Dean fighting to get both of them to actually eat something before leaving the house. Then, the moment they’re both out the door, it’s quiet.

It lingers throughout the day. No matter how loudly Dean blasts his music, the house sounds empty and that itch under his skin is relentless.

He tunes it out. He goes for a walk around the neighborhood, drives to the grocery store (his usual grocery store), visits Ellen and Jo at the Roadhouse, stops by Bobby’s, anything is better than the empty restlessness the house invokes. Even job searching… for a while at least.

“I don’t see what the big rush is.”

“There is no rush,” Dean snaps, shooting a dirty look at the laptop where Sam’s puppy dog eyes take up most of the screen.

Sam puts his palms up in surrender but continues, heedless of Dean’s rapidly rising temper. To be fair, all Dean’s done for the past half hour is bitch about job searching in general and  _ resumés  _ specifically so maybe he hasn’t noticed that Dean’s at the end of his rope, suffocating under the pressure of acclimating to the apple pie life that he wasn’t cut out for the first time around.

“All I’m saying is from what you’ve told me, you guys are pretty well set so maybe now would be a good time to-,”

“ _ Don’t _ .”

“-go back to school.”

Dean drops his head onto the kitchen table and groans loudly, hoping to drown out his brother. It doesn’t work.

“I’m serious, Dean. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to get your GED. I think Cas would more than understand if you decided to start studying for it and maybe even go to college before getting a full-time job. It’s not like you guys need-,”

Dean lifts his head. “That’s great and all Sammy, but that doesn’t help me figure out what the hell I’m supposed to say on this stupid thing about my two years of under the table semi-illegal odd jobs without cluing them in on my under the table, semi-illegal odd jobs!” Dean exclaims with a disgusted grimace at the half-complete resume sketched out in the notebook on the table in front of him. The work history is supposed to be the easy part, but fuck if Dean can figure it out.

Sam sighs heavily. “I told you, don’t draw attention to it. More than likely they won’t notice.”

“But what if they do?”

“Then put ‘ _ Various Contracting Positions _ ’, or something,” Sam offers, obviously exasperated.

Dean shakes his head. “That’s too vague and leads them to think there was like… a contract involved and then they’ll have follow-up questions and I’ll have to burst their bubble and then they’re not going to trust a word I say. I’m not putting that.”

Sam purses his lips and aims a bitchface through the screen at Dean. “Then I don’t know, Dean. Say you’ll explain the gap in-person.”

Dean pauses in his anxious pen clicking and considers that. “You can do that?”

“Uh, yeah,” Sam says flippantly. “You’re not the first person ever to lead an unconventional life. What did Cas put on his?”

Dean snorts, a reluctant smile pulling his lips. “He laid it all out there- straight up said he was homeless and then listed all the weird shit he did: community service, soup kitchen duty, everything. He’s got balls, I’ll give him that. Worked out for him at least. The fancy pants company that hired him is all about having a diverse workforce or whatever.” His smile drops. “No way I’ll get on at a place like that though. You have to be ‘qualified’ ‘n shit.”

Sam visibly perks up and Dean regrets saying anything. “That’s what I’ve been saying! If you get your GED then you won’t have to settle. You can work for a good company like Cas does. One with benefits and-,”

Dean’s phone starts ringing, cutting across Sam’s lecture nicely. Dean picks it up and groans. It’s the school. Again.

“I gotta go, Sammy. Looks like Claire’s still acting up.”

This will mark the third time she’s been sent to the Dean of Students’ office in a week. Cas is at his wit’s end. It doesn’t seem to matter what he says to her or how many times he confiscates her laptop and confines her to her room or tries to bribe her with special art classes in return for good behavior; this shit keeps happening.

“Ah. Well, good luck with that and think about what I said.”

“Uh huh.”

Sam manages to get in one last glare before the Skype call disconnects and Dean hits the green ‘Answer’ button on his phone.

“This is Dean.”

Hopefully it’s just the usual ‘got caught skipping class’ and not something more serious. It’s only 10 am.

.

~*~

.

“Oh, come on! I hit him! I hi-ARGH!  _ Dammit _ .”

Charlie pumps her arms over her head in victory, letting her controller fall onto the empty couch cushion between them. “Get  _ wrecked _ , Winchester!” she crows.

Dean scoffs and tosses his controller onto the end table and crosses his arms over his chest. “There was lag. I totally shot that guy.”

“Boohoo. Whiny Winchester can’t admit he got beat fair and square,” Charlie taunts with a carefree grin.

Dean wrinkles his nose. “I’m rusty.”

Charlie snorts. “Even in your prime, I was kicking your ass. You didn’t stand a chance.”

Dean rolls his eyes and gets to his feet. “Yeah, yeah. You want a refill?”

Charlie passes him her empty lemonade glass. “Yes, please.”

Dean takes the glass and as he passes by, his phone on the back of the couch starts ringing. He plucks it up and breathes out a soft, “Dammit,” at the number on the screen. He catches Charlie’s curious stare and says, “Claire.”

Her gaze turns sympathetic as he hits ‘Answer’ and heads into the kitchen.

“This is Dean…” He stops in his tracks next to the sink. “ _ Suspended? _ What for… Fighting? Dammit, Claire.” He sets Charlie’s glass on the counter. “No, yeah I can do that. That’s fine. I can be there in, uh… Twenty minutes. Thanks.”

He disconnects the call and repeats, “Dammit”. He steps back into the living room to Charlie zipping up her backpack and slinging it over her shoulder. He sighs. “Did you still want…” He gestures vaguely at the kitchen behind him.

“Nah,” Charlie waves him down. “To be honest, I could do with something a little more caffeinated anyway. You’ve gotten soft playing suburban house husband.”

Dean’s face goes warm. “That’s not- Shut up. Those energy drinks’ll kill you, then who’s gonna keep Jo out of trouble, huh? Besides, Cas likes my lemonade.”

Charlie laughs. “Alright, don’t blow a gasket old man.  _ Anyway _ ,” she continues forcefully before he can argue. “Practice that.” She jabs a nail-bitten finger at the game console under the TV. “Next time, I expect a challenge, comprende?”

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll see how much time I get with Claire here.”

“True.” Charlie smiles sympathetically. “How many days is she suspended for?”

“Three days.” Dean scrubs a hand through his hair. Cas is gonna be so pissed. “She’s getting out of control.”

“What are you gonna do?”

Dean gives her a look. “Me? Nothing. She’s not my kid.”

Charlie doesn’t believe him. “Oh, come on. She might as well be.”

“But she’s not. Cas is her dad and I’m not gonna step on his toes. This is between them. The only reason I’m the contact for the school is that he’s at work during the day.”

It’d been a fight to get Dean to agree to it too. It’s not that he doesn’t want to be involved with Claire and all that. It’s because that  _ is  _ what he wants. If he lets himself take that step and have that kind of relationship with Claire, he’s not gonna be able to see the line anymore and it’s gonna drive a wedge between him and Cas. He doesn’t want Cas to think he’s trying to butt in between him and Claire. Things are good right now. It’s when he starts asking for too much that they go to shit.

“Okay,” Charlie says slowly, “but you can probably relate to what she’s going through right now. School-wise at least. A little advice from someone who’s already walked the trail and found it lacking might not be the worst thing ever.”

“She’s not my kid,” Dean repeats, steadfast. He can’t. He just can’t.

“I’m not saying you should lecture her and send her to her room without dinner, just… talk to her. Listen to her. Let her know you’ve been there and you know it sucks.”

“But-,”

“She’s not your kid.” Charlie rolls her eyes. “I get it. Just think about it.” With a Vulcan salute, she walks backward out the front door and to her rattletrap (now sans scary noise thanks to a free Dean Winchester tune-up) in the driveway.

Dean thinks about it for all of two seconds. Cas and Claire don’t know he dropped out of high school and he plans he plans to keep it that way. Besides, he’s got no right to parent Cas’s kid. None.

.

~*~

.

Claire is mortified that Dean is the one to pick her up and Dean’s not any more comfortable with it, especially when they step out of the Dean of Student’s office after getting reamed for Claire’s “spiraling behavior” (she punched a kid in the nose for calling her a skank, doesn’t sound like much of a fight to him) and run straight into the same witch that was running the place back in his day. Of course, because his life is never easy, she recognizes him immediately.

Principal Bevell’s fair blonde hair is pulled back into an elegant knot on the back of her head and her skirted suit and heels are immaculate as always. Next to her, Dean in his faded jeans and stretched out t-shirt and Claire with her smeared black as sin eyeliner, even darker fingernails, and ripped skinny jeans, look like they just crawled out of the gutter. He hates her.

“Mr. Winchester,” she says, surprise coating her dainty British accent. She looks between Claire and Dean with a tight frown. “She’s not… yours… is she?”

“Her dad asked me to pick her up,” Dean says tightly, trying to be civil in front of Claire at least. “He’s working.”

“You need to be registered at the front office in order to pick up students during school hours.”

“Yes.” Dean replies shortly. “I do. Is that all?”

Bevell looks between them again with raised eyebrows. Claire scowls and a cruel smile curls Bevell’s lips and Dean knows they’re in for it now.

“Despite the lack of relation, I can see your influence.” She levels a significant look at Dean. “Speaking of, did you ever manage to complete your-,”

“That’s enough,” Dean cuts her off, heart pounding. “Let’s go, Claire.”

With a firm hand between Claire’s shoulder blades, brooking no argument from the teen, he turns them around and makes for the main office as fast as he can. Bevell’s laugh twinkles down the hall after them.

“I suppose not then. What a shame this one’s determined to go the same way. Your influence, as always, never ceases to amaze me.”

Dean grits his teeth and doesn’t turn back, though Claire slows and begins to turn, he pushes harder and says between clenched teeth, “Don’t. That’s what she wants. Keep walking.”

Claire scoffs softly, but does as she’s told and marches forward the last few steps before ripping open the office door and storming inside. Dean is on her heels and lets the door slam behind them. He makes quick work of scribbling Claire’s name and reason for leaving early in the check out book and is hurriedly scrawling his signature when he looks up and accidentally makes eye contact with the receptionist.

She gasps. “Dean Winchester! I knew it was you!”

Her voice… He takes in her round rosy cheeks, overabundance of cheap plastic jewelry, and the wide pleased grin stretching glossy lips.

“Molly?” he asks. A smile breaks free and he asks, “What are you still doing working for that…  _ hag _ ?” He can’t think of a more PG13 insult so hag will have to do.

“I work for the district,” she corrects, as she always has. “Someone’s gotta make sure she doesn’t snap and actually eat a student one of these days.”

“Doing the Lord’s work,” Dean teases.

Molly snorts. “Anyhow, who’s this? I’ve seen you around, but I haven’t gotten a name. You’re fairly new, aren’t you?”

“Oh, right. This is Claire. She’s my, uh…”

Claire steps forward and sticks out her hand. “He screws my dad,” she says with a simpering smile as she and Molly shake hands. “Nice ta meet’cha.”

Dean’s face must be glowing from how hot it feels, but Molly throws her head back and laughs then replies, “Lovely to meet you as well,” before turning sparking eyes up at Dean. “I knew it! You were always so eager to impress… Oh, what was his name? Andrew? Andrew Base?” It was Aaron Bass, but Dean’s not about to jog her memory. “It doesn’t matter. The way you two tiptoed around each other was adorable!” 

Dean clears his throat. “Yeah. Adorable. Uh, anyway, it was good to see you again, but we’ve got to scram.”

“Oh, of course. Stay out of trouble, both of you!”

Dean smiles awkwardly over his shoulder as he and Claire squeeze out the door, back into the hall. It shuts behind them and Dean releases a breath. “I hate this place.”

.

~*~

.

That night when Cas gets home he’s in a black mood. He blows in through the front door like a storm, rain dripping down his face and off the lapels of his new trench coat. Dean hasn’t said so, but he liked the old one better. This one looks… wrong.

“Is she in her room?” he demands.

Dean pauses his video game. “Uh, yeah, but listen-,”

Cas doesn’t listen and sweeps through the living room and up the stairs with a swish of wet trench coat and the squeak of a waterlogged shoe on wood flooring and not another word. Maybe Dean should have offered to pick him up today.

Dean hesitantly resumes his game, one ear perked for any noise from above. Not even a full minute later Claire’s voice makes itself heard through the ceiling. Dean pauses the game again and sits quietly on the couch. He can hear the low rumble of Cas’s short, curt words until they’re drowned out once more by Claire’s shrill rage.

They go back and forth until Dean can clearly make out Claire’s shrieked, “Get out!” closely followed by the slamming of a door.

Dean sits still as a rabbit in the sudden shocking silence, not moving a muscle until he realizes Cas isn’t coming back down.

With calculated, mechanical movements, Dean gets up from the couch, powers down the console, and switches off the TV before venturing upstairs to find him. As he passes by Claire’s door he hears a sniffle that’s abruptly cut short when the floorboard under his foot creaks. He hesitates, but in the end moves on. Judging from the dead silence, she’d rather not be bothered at the moment.

At the end of the hall, he stops in the doorway of their bedroom. Cas is standing in front of the window, still fully dressed, the night so black that only Cas’s reflection can be seen in the glass. Dean takes a step forward and sees himself as well.

“Hey,” Dean greets softly. Cas’s sightless stare flicks up to meet Dean’s eye in the reflection and then falls away. Dean licks his lips. “There’s pot roast if you-,”

“I’m not hungry.” Cas doesn’t look at him.

“Oh. Well, we could-,”

“I’d like to be left alone right now,” he says tonelessly, freezing Dean with one foot crossing the threshold.

“Oh, umm. Sure.” He backs out of the room and into the hall, watching and waiting, but Cas doesn’t look up. He turns on his heel and goes back the way he came until he lands once more on the living room couch for lack of anything else to do. He stares at the black TV screen, the only sound the wind pelting rain against the window and the house settling around him.

Eventually, he gets up. In the kitchen, he turns off the crockpot and pulls out the tupperware.

Maybe tomorrow.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

There's another job posting printed out and waiting for Dean on the kitchen table. Dean takes one glance at the thing and locks in on that detrimental phrase, “High school diploma or equivalent”. God  _ fucking _ dammit. Things have been tense around the house the last few days with Cas and Claire barely speaking to each other and Cas and Dean sleeping on their own sides of the bed rather than entangled in the center. He thought it might get better after Claire's suspension ended and she went back to school, but no dice.

It’s all going downhill so much faster than even Dean had anticipated. It’s only been a few months. They didn’t even make it to their first holidays before self-destructing. He thought they’d at least make it that far.

The few times they do talk Cas keeps making suggestions, pointing out different jobs in the paper or bringing home those fucking printouts.The problem is they all require a high school diploma or a GED. Dean has neither. Cas also keeps bringing up firefighting. He’s adamant that Dean should sign up for the classes and start a gym membership to get into shape.

Dean’s tired of it. He’s tired of fighting. He’s tired of keeping secrets. He’s tired of being the poor sap stuck in the middle of the real fight. He was the peacekeeper for Sam and dad his whole life and he’s damn tired of it. He’s done.

So when Cas catches him crumpling up the latest job posting and throwing it in the trash and says, “That’s recyclable, Dean,” he snaps.

“I flunked out!”

Cas tilts his head like a confused bird and behind him at the kitchen table Claire puts down her spoon next to her cereal bowl.

“I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t finish high school, Cas. I dropped out. I ditched too much and didn’t study enough. I couldn’t hack it so I quit. I don’t  _ have  _ a diploma.” His voice cracks. “I can’t apply for any of these jobs because I don’t qualify. I can’t-,” His voice cracks again and he turns away, scrubbing his hand down his face.

“Dean.” Cas takes a step forward, eyes soft and compassionate like they haven’t been for days.

“Stop it!” Dean steps back and fills his lungs, trying to get a grip. He glances across the room at Claire and has to look away from her wide blue eyes. “You don’t want this, Claire. Trust me, you don’t want to end up like me. It sucks. It’s humiliating. I know you’re going through a lot of shit right now and school is the only thing you really have any control over, but... stick it out anyway. It’s not worth it.”

Claire doesn’t say anything, only stares wide-eyed like her dad.

“I didn’t know,” Cas finally murmurs like this is some huge failing on his part. Dean laughs, shaky and humorless.

“Yeah, I know. Did you think I  _ accidentally _ didn’t tell you that I’m a big fucking screw-up?”

“You’re not.”

Dean snaps, slamming his palms down on the countertop. “Yes, I am! I can’t even get a damn  _ job _ , Cas! How am I supposed to take care of you if I can’t do shit because I don’t have some stupid piece of paper from eight years ago! I can’t do a  _ fucking  _ thing.”

Cas stares at him wordlessly long enough for Dean to get  _ this close _ to lashing out again, but then he finally speaks. “Sit down.”

Dean’s first instinct is to ignore the request and get the hell out of there. He wants to get in his Baby and tear out of this hellhole of a town with its suffocating white picket fences, nosy judgemental neighbors, and pushy homophobic grandma-types.

“Please,” Cas says.

He grits his teeth and stomps the short way across the kitchen to throw himself into the chair opposite Claire, choosing to glare at the table top rather than meet either of the twin blue stares watching him.

“You could have told me sooner,” Cas says after a long pause, his voice gentle and hesitant. Rather than giving in to the part of him that wants to keep raging and yelling, Dean takes a deep breath and shoves that part of him away.

“Yeah.” He breathes out. “But I didn’t and then I couldn’t.” Another humorless laugh claws his throat but he swallows it down. “Who’d want to date some loser who couldn’t even hack high school?” He looks up at Cas, bitter smile curling his lips.

“Do you want to?”

Dean frowns. “What?”

“Do you want to go back to school?”

“I-,” Dean shakes his head. “Sam thinks I should get my GED.”

“Do  _ you _ want to?” Cas repeats, steadfast and determined.

Dean shrugs, dropping his eyes back to the table and twitching his fingers in a restless rhythm against the wood. “I guess.”

“Then we should figure out how to get started.”

Dean shoots him an incredulous look, but Cas’s eyes are bright and distant, his mouth pursed in a thoughtful moue. “That’s it? You’re not, I dunno, disappointed or anything?”

Cas squints at him, genuinely baffled. “Disappointed with what? Nothing has changed. You’re still the same as you were yesterday.”

Dean shakes his head. “I guess.” Weirdo. He shakes his head again and sits up. This is happening. He takes a steadying breath. “Sam says there’s a practice test I have to take first to figure out what I need to study to prep for the real deal.”

Cas hums thoughtfully. “How do we sign you up for that?”

“It’s online, but-,”

Cas turns away, heading for the living room. “Is the laptop still on the couch?” he asks over his shoulder.

“Cas, stop.” He does, hovering just inside the doorway, visibly impatient to continue on his mission. “Just… I can do that part myself, okay? Maybe after I brush my teeth?”

Cas blinks. “Of course.” A sheepish expression creeps over his face. “I suppose I got carried away. I only want you to be happy.”

“That’s great,” Dean shakes his head, smiling despite himself, “but you still have work and Claire has school to get to. I’m- I’ll be fine.”

“Right.” Cas checks the clock on the microwave and visibly startles. “I’m going to miss my bus.”

He drops a kiss on the top of Claire’s head and then plants one on Dean’s lips before rushing out the front door with a hasty goodbye tossed over his shoulder. The door shuts behind him leaving Dean, Claire, and an awkward silence lingering in the kitchen.

He can’t look at her. Cas is… well, Cas. He doesn’t care about normal stuff and Dean should have realized that from the start, but Claire is a wild card he doesn’t know what to do about and he is pathetically reliant on her approval.

He clears his throat and gets to his feet, the screeching of the chair over the linoleum painfully loud in the otherwise soundless kitchen.

“Sorry.”

Dean freezes and his eyes flick up to Claire who’s focused on toying with her spoon.

“What?” he asks. “You've got nothing to be sorry for.”

Claire shrugs. “I keep making jokes about you not having a job and stuff and I… sorry if I hurt your feelings or whatever.”

Dean snorts. “Don’t worry about it. Pretty sure grown-ups are supposed to know better than to listen to moody teenagers anyway.”

She scowls up at him for that and he smiles back. “Eat your Froot Loops. I’m gonna brush my teeth then I’ll give you a ride to school.”

Claire shoots him one last silent glare, but dutifully spoons up a mouthful of soggy cereal.

In the Impala, Dean pulls into the drive leading up to the school. He licks his lips and glances over at Claire, morose in the passenger seat. He clears his throat.

“I, umm…” Claire looks over. “I meant it, you know?” She raises her eyebrows, waiting. “I know you’re not me, but I can tell you from experience, cutting class and being a rebel doesn’t pay off in the long run.”

She clenches her jaw and turns back to the window as Dean rolls to a stop at the curb, but she doesn’t get out so Dean figures that’s permission enough to continue, keeping in mind what Charlie said after Claire got suspended.

“You’ve heard all that before though, so I guess what I’m really saying is if you ever need someone to talk to who isn’t your dad and kinda gets it…” He makes a vague hand gesture and hopes it’s enough.

His heart sinks to his toes as Claire pulls the door handle and pops the door open. “Okay,” is all she says before stepping out and pulling her backpack after her.

“Tacos?” Dean calls after her. “For dinner, I mean.”

She blinks at him, eerily reminiscent of her dad. “Sure.” She shuts the door.

“Cool,” Dean mutters, watching as she dodges around clumps of teenagers without greeting anyone or being acknowledged. Dean shifts into gear and pulls in a deep breath, repeating, “Cool.”

That went well.

.

~*~

.

Dean dedicates literal hours to taking the damn practice test. By the time he’s done, it’s almost time for Claire to get home and he’s hot under the collar but feeling, if not like he’s making forward progress, then like he can at least see where he wants to be and that's the most he's had in a long time.

Over tacos that night, he spends most of the meal bitching about all the different kinds of studying he’s going to have to do before he’s ready for the real deal. The only section he did okay in was the science section, but he’ll still need to brush up on it if he wants to comfortably pass.

Cas gives up trying to talk about study materials and joining an adult study group after Dean and Claire’s twenty-minute rant over the inhumanity of the English language and focuses instead on his dinner. Afterwards, while they’re clearing up their dishes, he gets the opportunity to ask, “How was school?”

“Fine. Ran into the principal.”

Dean turns away from filling the sink and pretending he’s not listening. “Did she give you a hard time?”

Cas shoots him a curious look, but Claire shrugs, unconcerned.

“Not really. Said something about me making an appearance in all of my class for once, but that was it.”

Cas turns back to her. “You went to all of your classes?”

Claire shrugs again. “Not a big deal,” she mumbles, ducking her head.

Cas looks like he’s about to say something sappy and embarrassing so Dean steps in and rescues them all. “Anybody up for dessert? We’ve got the fixin’s for brownie sundaes.”

“Dude, yes,” Claire agrees enthusiastically. Dean grins and heads for the freezer, pecking a kiss on Cas’s smiling cheek as he goes by. For the first time in a long time, he feels like they’re going to be okay.

.

~*~

.

Dean chews the end of his pencil absently while frowning down at the old inked over textbook in front of him. He went after the cheapest one at the used bookstore (cheapest due to the previous owner's doodle-happy pen more than likely) and it still cost him $30. It’s five editions out of date and one of the pages has some mysterious stains that smell like sesame chicken, but hey, math is math, right?

“What are you doing?”

Dean looks up and has to blink a few times to get his old tired eyes to focus properly on Claire’s face.

“Trig. What’s up?” He pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger then blinks a few more times until the blur fades.

Claire snorts, peering across the table at his textbook. “You’re getting old.” Dean startles, offended, but Claire isn’t paying attention. “Ugh. I hate trig. It makes zero sense.”

Dean perks up. “Are you taking it, too?”

She pulls a face. “Unfortunately. Have you figured out that stupid flagpole question yet? It’s impossible. They only give you like two numbers and then want you to solve the length  _ and  _ angle? They’re insane.”

“Uh,” Dean shuffles through his notebook until he finds the page, “I did, actually.”

“Are you kidding me? Let me see that.” Claire pours over his notebook for five full seconds before she drops into the chair opposite him with a sharp, “How?”

Dean buries a surprised smile.

“Go get your homework and I’ll walk you through it. It’s actually pretty easy once you figure out triangles are all mostly the same and there are specific rules for this stuff.”

“Figures you’d secretly be a nerd.” But she goes and returns a minute later with her own equally out of date and battered textbook and a thick packet of math problems.

“Makeup work,” she mutters, seeing how Dean eyes the stack. He nods, not saying anything as she plops down beside him. “Explain.”

Dean explains. It takes a few problems for her to really get it, word problems are not her forté, but after going through a few pages of her packet together it clicks.

“Oh my God, are you serious? I’ve been doing it- Ugh!” Claire growls, snatching up her pencil and flying through the next problem flawlessly on her own.

Minutes later the front door clicks open while Dean is explaining why one of her answers should be positive rather than negative. He half glances up and distractedly greets Cas through the kitchen doorway and reminds him to take off his shoes for once. Cas ignores him (typical) and slowly approaches the table.

“Are you… doing your homework?” he asks.

“Uh huh,” Claire mutters, glaring down at her calculator. “Five times sin-,”

“Tan,” Dean corrects.

“Dammit.” Claire rapid-clicks the 'Clear’ button. “Okay, I got this. Five times tan eleven…”

Dean checks over her shoulder and nods. As far as he can tell, she’s got it.

“Oh crap!” he exclaims, glancing up at Cas with a wince. “I haven’t even started on dinner yet. We got caught up.” He grimaces his apology. The man works all day while Dean stays home, the least he can do is make sure he comes home to a hot meal. “Sorry, man. It okay if we do sandwiches?”

Cas hasn’t looked away from Claire hastily scribbling out her equations, interspaced with rapid button punching on her calculator.

“Or,” Cas begins, distracted, “I could order us pizza?”

“Yasss,” Claire moans without looking up from her homework. “Barbeque, please God.”

Cas lips twitch into a soft smile. “I can do barbeque.”

“Gross,” Dean says. He stands from his chair and stretches until his back pops. His resulting sigh catches in his throat as Cas moves in and kisses him deeply, all warm plush lips and firm body under Dean’s hands.

“No making out while I’m in the room! It’s a simple rule!”

They part reluctantly and share a smile. Silently, Cas’s lips form the words, ‘Thank you,’ before he finally shucks off his shoes and pulls out his cell phone.

After that, Dean and Claire fall into something of a routine; whenever one finds the other with study materials or homework out, they inevitably join them regardless of whether or not the subject is covered by their respective syllabi. Of course, before the magic happens, they must dissect the subject by giving it the allotted amount of ridicule and contempt it deserves. Only then can they sit down and allow themselves to learn a thing or two.

As it happens, they occasionally both get stuck and the Google Gods refrain from smiling upon them, forcing them to turn to the next best resource Dean knows.

.

~*~

.

“Who was the 26th U.S. President?” Sam asks, voice tinny through Claire’s laptop.

“Uh, Buchanan,” Claire answers.

“No, he was the 15th,” Dean argues. “Ford.”

“You’re both wrong. It was Theodore Roosevelt.”

Claire and Dean both groan and slide a beer nut each from their respective piles across the table to the substantially larger pile in front of Sam.

“This is impossible,” Claire complains.

“There’s too many,” Dean agrees.

Sam fixes Bitch Face #3 on them and says in his Holier Than Thou tone, “There’s only 44. People memorize them all the time.”

“When they’re boy geniuses, maybe,” Claire grumbles.

“Right?” Dean mumbles back.

“Okay, the next one is super easy,” Sam interrupts, flipping to the next flashcard.

“Says you,” Dean says. Sam shoots him a warning glare while Claire covers a snicker.

Clearing his throat and making a show of it, Sam reads his flashcard. “On what  _ date  _ did the War of 1812 begin?”

Dean and Claire lurch forward and each slam their open palms on the tabletop, shouting, “1812!  _ I said it first! _ ”

“Hey!” Sam interrupts. “Do either of you know the month? I’ll let the day pass if you can tell me the  _ month _ .”

“Uhh,” Dean glances at Claire who looks just as stumped as he is, “March?”

“April?” Claire hazards.

Sam sighs. “June 18th,” he says dryly.

Booing heartily, Claire and Dean pelt Sam with their few remaining beer nuts while Sam stares impassively back from behind the screen.

“Alright you heathens, leave poor Sam alone,” Ellen barges in, coming to a stop at the end of their booth.

“Thanks, Ellen.”

She leans over Dean to see the screen proper and Dean resists the urge to sneeze as the thick scent of hairspray envelopes his nose. Claire smirks from her spot by the window.

“It’s all in the job description, sweetheart. It’s good to see you. Can you see me? Am I in the camera?”

“I can see you,” Sam says with a patient smile. Dean pulls an ugly face over the top of Ellen’s head. “Hope Dean’s not giving you too hard of a time.”

“I know how to keep him in line. Speaking of,” she stands up straight and points a finger at Dean, “We got some tables in need of cleaning.”

“Sure thing,” he says and slides out of the booth. “You good, Sammy?”

“Yeah, actually I have a class soon so I’ll catch you guys later.”

“Alright, talk to you soon.”

“Bye everyone!”

Sam rings off to a chorus of goodbyes throughout the entire bar. It makes Dean grin. He was perfectly happy being a house spouse (read: bored out of his fucking mind), but Ellen caught him staring at Indeed.com’s blank search bar one time too many and insisted he help her out at the Roadhouse. Entirely for her benefit of course.

So now he fits in wherever he's needed, be it clearing tables, behind the bar, or taking orders. And more times than not Claire tags along. She says it's for the free food, but he can't help but notice the disappointed slump to her shoulders every time they walk in the door and Ellen informs them Jo's got the day off.

“You good kiddo?” he asks Claire. She raises her eyebrows wordlessly, puts in her earbuds, and pulls her laptop back across the table.

“Right.” Dean rolls his eyes.

“Oh, and Dean, honey.” He turns to find Ellen. She aims a significant look at the scattering of nuts over the floor, table, and bench. “You know where the broom is.”

Dean sighs. “Yes, ma’am.”

They get home a couple hours later, complaining about Sam and his teaching methods good-naturedly. Inside, the air is heavy with the scent of cooking meat and Italian herbs.

“Man, something smells good.” Dean kicks off his shoes and hangs up his jacket in the closet, it’s starting to get cold when the sun goes down, a reminder that Halloween is just around the corner, and follows his nose to the kitchen. Claire splits off at the stairs, taking them at a trot.

“Claire, homework!” Cas shouts after her.

“Already did it! Not hungry!” Claire’s voice shouts back, followed by the sound of her bedroom door clicking shut.

Dean steps through the kitchen doorway to find the table set for three and Cas looking peeved.

“Teenagers,” Dean says, rolling his eyes dramatically.

“I take it you’re not hungry either?” Cas asks with a frown.

Dean sobers. “Sorry, Ellen doesn’t let people leave hungry,” he says, wincing as he takes in the set table, the steaming pot of pasta on the stove, and Dean’s homemade sauce bubbling merrily where Cas is reheating it in a saucepan. Cas’s lips go thin, but he says nothing as he begins pulling out Tupperware.

“Hey, I can do that,” Dean offers. “I really am sorry. I didn’t know you were cooking.”

Cas drops the Tupperware on the table and rubs his temples. “It’s fine. I’m tired. I’m going to go to bed.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to-,”

“I said it’s fine, Dean.”

Dean shuts his mouth with a snap. “Okay.” Cas doesn’t look at him as he makes for the hall, shoulders hunched. “How was work?” Dean blurts, not a little desperate.

“Tiring,” Cas says. He disappears through the doorway, leaving Dean alone in the kitchen listening to his footsteps softly ascend the stairs and fade down the hall.

Behind him, the oven dings. With a sigh, Dean digs out an oven mitt and removes a full loaf of garlic bread.

.

~*~

.

“He seems really distant is all,” Claire mutters, kicking at the ground harder than needed to propel her swing higher. “Has he always been like that or is it…?”

Dean hears the unspoken 'me’ clear as a bell and shakes his head. Cas has always been distant, in the way that he spends more time in his own head than out and about with actual people, but that's not what Claire's talking about and he's both relieved and dismayed that he isn't the only one who's noticed. He'd been hoping to be able to chalk it up to his own paranoia and self-esteem issues, but apparently, that's not it.

“It's not you,” he states loud and clear. Best to clear that up right off the bat. “He's… adjusting.” It sounds lame even to his own ears and judging by Claire's face as she swings past him, she's not fooled. He sighs. “I don't know, Claire. A couple months ago all he had was a dirty trench coat and the concept of an eight-year-old little girl. Now he's got a live, in-action rebellious teenager and a full-time job. He's adjusting.”

Claire skids to a sudden stop, kicking up a dust cloud that settles over Dean's boots. “A couple of months ago I didn't have a dad. I had a deadbeat druggie mom and survival instincts,” she spits, voice shrill and eyes shiny as she delivers the statement like a kick to the ribs.

Fighting for air and hoping his voice doesn't waver Dean starts, “I never said--,”

The gate opens with an audible shriek, interrupting Dean mid-sentence. He and Claire rubberneck to see who the hell it could be, knowing Cas is at work, Ellen, Jo, and Charlie would just walk in the front door, and, well, Claire doesn’t have any friends.

Squinting past the fading orange glow of the setting sun, Dean strains to see who it is. The silhouette steps forward, out of the glare of the sun, and Dean almost falls off his swing when he sees the girl from the grocery store standing just inside the gate looking worn, cold, and uncomfortable, but as far as Dean can tell she’s still got her ears and her nose despite the cold front that’s been bearing down on them for the past week. It’s only a couple weeks until Halloween and they’ve already had their first overnight freeze. Her fingers are stuffed deep in the pockets of her overlarge coat and he can’t see her feet through her ratty old sneakers, but he’s hoping she has all of her fingers and toes too.

Belatedly, he stands from the swing, trying not to appear too eager. “Uh, hey.” Good job, Winchester. Very casual.

“No one answered the door and I heard voices.” She hesitates and then with the air of someone with nothing left to lose, she says, “You still good for that sandwich?” Her voice is hard and defensive, but she can’t quite school her features to hide the silent plea in her eyes.

“Hell yeah. Do you wanna come inside?” He glances back at Claire, but she’s eyeing the girl critically and doesn’t appear to have any advice to bestow upon him.

The girl shrugs, but her eyes flick to house in a way that Dean takes to mean ‘God yes very much please get me out of the cold.’

“C’mon,” he jerks his head towards the house and leads the way knowing both girls are following him. The porch holds strong and steady as they trek across it to the door which Dean opens then takes a step back and pushes the door open wide. He expects her to hesitate, but apparently, her mind is made up. She shuffles past him and Dean’s critical eye takes in the careful way she moves- it could easily be stiff joints from the cold, but under the soft yellow of the kitchen room lights, he can see a partially healed scratch across her forehead and a mottled purple bruise on her jaw.

He steps inside after Claire and shuts the door, his blood boiling to think what must have happened to her, but he tamps it down and pretends he didn’t notice. For now at least. He doesn’t want to scare her off before he’s managed to help.

Claire plops into a chair at the table without offering one to their unexpected guest and props her elbows on the table as she asses their guest with a blank stare, eyes lingering at the same tender spots as Dean’s. She catches Dean’s eye and raises her eyebrows.

“Who’s this?”

“Uhh…”

“Krissy,” the girl responds, hovering in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room eyeing Claire much the same as Claire did her. “You?”

“Claire.”

Krissy half turns to Dean, still watching Claire. “Is she your…?”

“Uhh…”

Claire flattens her lips into a sarcastic mockery of a smile. “He’s fucking my dad.”

Dean cringes and scrubs a hand down his face, breathing deeply. “Do you have to introduce me like that every time?”

Claire smirks and ignores him. “So are you the squatter girl or what?”

“Claire!” Dean exclaims, but Krissy isn’t fazed.

“Yeah. So?”

Claire looks her up and down once again, but this time without the judgment and instead with something close to appreciation. She shrugs. “Just asking. Dean was all worried about you and stuff. Glad you decided to show.”

With that said, she gets to her feet and brushes past Krissy to get through to the living room where she hops over the back of the couch and turns on the TV.

To cope, Dean decides to pretend the entire confrontation never happened.

“So Krissy, is your heart set on a sandwich? If not, we’ve got pizza on the way. Should be here in about twenty minutes.”

Krissy’s stomach growls audibly, but she pretends it didn’t and Dean follows her lead.

“Pizza sounds alright.”

“Cool, you want a shower while you wait?”

She eyes him warily and Dean holds up his hands. “I figured the hot water would do you good, that’s all. Claire can show you where the bathroom is if you’re interested. Or, I guess you probably already know where it is.”

Face guarded, Krissy glances at the back of Claire’s head before asking, deadpan, “So you collect teenage girls or something?”

Dean blanches while Claire barks a laugh from the couch.

“No!” Dean blurts, duly horrified while Krissy looks skeptical.

“He really is fucking my dad,” Claire says, now on her knees leaning an elbow on the back of the couch and grinning maniacally. “They’re like,” she wafts a hand in the air, “in love and shit.”

“Language,” Dean mutters halfheartedly.

She ignores him and says mockingly, “If you can’t talk about it, you shouldn’t be doing it.”

“I- That’s not- Shut up.”

Claire laughs and hops the back of the couch, jerking her head toward the stairs. “C’mon. Dean won’t tell you, but you stink. You can use my shampoo and stuff. You don’t want their Head and Shoulders crap.”

Dean sucks in a breath to tell Claire to behave, but realizing the futility of it all, heaves out a sigh instead and mumbles something about being in the kitchen.

After the girls disappear up the stairs, he putters aimlessly, checking they have enough paper plates, figuring out their drink options--is there anything he can whip up for dessert? Not in the next fifteen minutes, no, but there are still some homemade chocolate chip cookie ice cream sandwiches in the freezer so he figures that’s good enough.

When he runs out of meaningless things to do, he opens his laptop and pulls up Google. He’s waist deep in a website detailing how to legally adopt a child in Kansas before he realizes what he’s doing and slaps the lid shut. For all he knows, she has a family out there who wouldn’t be too happy about a stranger trying to adopt their daughter out from under their collective noses. Runaway or not, there’s gotta be someone looking for her. Whether or not that person is fit to have her back is the question.

The front door clicks open and Dean hears Cas’s voice call out, “Why is there a pizza man in the driveway?”

Dean gets up and starts to make his way through to the front of the house. “Claire was craving barbecue pizza again so I-,” He cuts himself off as he enters the living room and finds Cas scowling in the doorway holding a sack from Subway.

“Ah shit. I completely forgot,” Dean admits, flashing back to this morning when Cas was getting ready for work and commented that he wanted a meatball sub and Dean told him he should just bring some home for dinner.

“The pizza man is waiting,” is all Cas says, brushing by Dean to get through to the kitchen.

“I’m sorry!” Dean calls after him as he digs out his wallet. Cas doesn’t elect to respond. With a curse, Dean hurries out to the driveway to pay the poor confused delivery man and collect their pizzas. Back inside, he kicks the door shut behind him and follows the voices to the kitchen.

The three of them--Cas, Claire, and Krissy--are seated at the table. Krissy’s hair is wet around her shoulders and soaking into a t-shirt of Claire’s that hangs off of her like it doesn’t Claire. The sweatpants it seems Claire has also lent her without being asked (Dean needs to see about getting that kid an allowance or something) are also too big, the drawstrings pulled tight, but the fluffy striped green socks fit just right over all ten toes and she’s happily devouring a meatball sub using both hands (and all ten fingers). The vindictive pinch to Cas’s lips tells him the sub is Dean’s. Or it was anyway.

“So, uh, pizza’s here,” he announces unnecessarily. Everyone is already staring at the boxes in his hands, save Cas who is staring Dean in the eye, his gaze unreadable.

“Well, pass it over,” Claire insists. “I’m starving.”

Dean drops the boxes onto the table without rebuke and settles in next to Cas, across from Krissy. Both girls tear into the pizza, loading their plates. The bruises and small cuts on Krissy’s face are more noticeable now that she’s clean. She’s pale and looks malnourished too, but Dean takes heart at her full plate.

“We’re going to eat in the living room,” Claire announces, half out of her seat and Krissy only a second behind her. “Krissy hasn’t seen Shameless yet.”

Dean side-eyes Cas to see if he has anything to say, but his head is down as he picks bacon pieces off his pizza.

“Uh, alright then.”

They’re already leaving the room, talking quietly and giggling. Dean half-heartedly tries to listen in, but then they turn on the TV and their conversation is lost, leaving him no distraction from the grumpy man beside him.

“You can eat your sandwich instead if you want. I really am sorry.”

Cas shrugs, his slice of pizza now mostly bacon-free. “I’ll have it for lunch tomorrow.” He doesn’t look at Dean as he says it and the guilt rolls heavy in his gut. Surely, this can’t be just about pizza?

“Is it okay that Krissy’s here? I know I didn’t really-,”

“It’s fine,” Cas interrupts. “It’s your house, Dean. You can invite whomever you wish.”

The evenly delivered statement stings.

“That’s not true. It’s our house,” he says, ashamed at how small he sounds. He doesn’t understand the real issue here.

Cas sighs and drops his crust onto his plate. “The point stands, I don’t mind Krissy staying here as long as she needs or wants. It’s fine, Dean.”

“Cas-,”

Cas stands abruptly. “I’m not hungry after all,” he says stiffly. He throws his paper plate away and then hesitates in the doorway, his back to Dean. “I’m going to bed.”

Dean’s head is abuzz, trying to figure out what he did wrong this time, but Cas is leaving turning towards the stairs and Dean’s legs refuse to stand.

“G’night,” he calls after him.

Cas hesitates before slipping out of view and ascending the stairs.

Alone in the kitchen, Dean only manages to eat a couple slices before he gives up and starts cleaning up. When he’s done he chews his bottom lip. He doesn’t want to crowd Cas when he so obviously wants nothing to do with him, so he goes into the living room and plops down on the couch beside Claire.

She swivels to face him and asks, “Is everything okay with you and my dad?” Her eyes are solemn, too serious for it to be a throwaway question.

“Yeah,” Dean lies. “‘Course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?”

He was really hoping it was all in his head.

.

~*~

.

Krissy sleeps in Sam’s room that night. It doesn’t take a lot of convincing which should maybe be a little worrying, but Dean doesn’t have the emotional capacity to be anything but relieved. When three o’clock rolls around and Dean wakes up for no reason other than to address the wriggling mass of anxiety in his gut that won’t go away until he’s checked the locks and the fire alarms, he passes by her open door and sees her sleeping peacefully, blankets kicked off and half on the floor. It feels right. More right than leaving the room lying in wait for Sam’s improbable return.

.

~*~

.

The next day, Cas is back to normal. Dean doesn’t know what was going on with him the night before, but a good sleep seems to have rectified it so he’s not going to stir the pot. Things are good. He sweeps out the door after bestowing his usual kiss goodbye to Dean and his verbal goodbye to Claire and even tacks one on for Krissy, wishing her a good day.

Then it’s up to Dean to decide what to do with her.

She’s 17 and should be starting her senior year, complete with homecoming, prom, and walking across the stage next spring, but instead, she’s homeless and starving. He doesn’t say a word as she wolfs down three helpings of scrambled eggs, two Eggo waffles, and then grabs a pack of PopTarts before they head out the door to take Claire to school, a vague plan forming in the back of Dean’s mind.

They need to have a frank conversation, that much is clear, but the how, the when, and the how much is all variable and Dean thinks the best way for him to figure out how much he needs to know is to let her decide how much she wants him to know. But the fact remains, he can’t do much else for her without more information. He can’t go to jail for kidnapping or harboring a runaway or something and leave Cas and Claire to fend for themselves… Not that they really need Dean at this point, but he really doesn’t want to go to jail.

In front of the school, Claire gets out of the passenger seat and stops when she realizes Krissy isn’t getting out with her.

“You coming?”

Krissy glances at the back of Dean’s head then looks at Claire and shakes her head. “No one- I mean, I’m not enrolled.”

“Oh,” Claire says, face and tone carefully composed, but Dean thinks he knows her well enough now to see the disappointment she’s trying to hide. She gives him a significant look as though to say ‘ _ Fix this shit _ ’ and then says aloud to the both of them, “Alright, see you,” and shuts the door.

Dean doesn’t watch her trek to the school, long familiar now with the painfully solitary path she cuts effortlessly through throngs of students until she disappears into the seventh circle of he- ahem, the high school. Instead, he flips down the rearview mirror and makes eye contact with Krissy.

“So… Walmart?” A.K.A. The sixth circle of hell. She shrugs and goes back to looking out the window, carefully not making eye contact with anyone who might recognize her. Would they recognize her? Is she even from Lawrence? They really need to get around to having that talk.  _ But _ , he thinks as he shifts into drive and eases off the curb into traffic,  _ not here _ .

In the Walmart parking lot while watching harried mothers shepherd their 3+ kids all under the age of five across the asphalt, alongside hordes of old men and women alike with their motorized scooters and tennis ball bedecked walkers and canes, he comes to the realization that no place is going to be the “right place” so why not here and now?

“You gonna tell me?”

In the rearview, Krissy averts her eyes, her fingers twitch towards the door handle and Dean holds his breath, waiting to see if she runs. For a second, he almost convinces himself she will. What would he do if she does? Then, she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath and tells him everything.

.

~*~

.

Dean drags two carts out of the waiting assortment and wheels one over to a perplexed Krissy while he drags the other behind him.

“I’m gonna get groceries. You’re going to get clothes, hygiene products, and whatever the hell else you need. I mean it. Whatever it is, just toss it in the cart. I’ll come find you when I’m done.”

“What?” She stares at the empty cart, uncomprehending. “But-,”

“No arguing. This is happening,” Dean insists, belatedly realizing he’s waving his finger at her like the mother in a 50’s sitcom.

Krissy frowns. “What’s my spending limit?”

Good question. Dean shrugs. “Eh, you don’t have one. If you go overboard I’ll let you know you need to whittle it down before we pay, but,” his stupid finger points again, “if you don’t get enough then I’m gonna have to walk you back there and help you pick stuff out and if the milk goes sour while we’re playing dress up I’ll be pissed.”

“You’re such a dweeb,” Krissy mutters, but she puts both hands on the cart and doesn’t turn away fast enough to hide the growing wetness on her lashes as she strides away towards the sea of clothing racks that take up the center of the store.

“Don’t forget the feminine products!” Dean yells after her, earning him a hateful glare and several scandalized stares. With a grin, Dean ignores the other shoppers save a wink at a befuddled boy of roughly four and makes his way to the grocery section, humming tunelessly.

He takes his time getting groceries. He doesn’t know how long she’ll be and he’d hate to rush her. More than that though, he needs time to think. He knew whatever she was running from would be heavy--it’s gotta be if she’d choose coming to a complete stranger for help over going back--but he never really considered the possibility that she didn’t have anything to go back to.

Turns out they’ve got more in common than he expected or would have wanted to. At least he was an adult when his dad died and could fuck off on an endless road trip to wherever he wanted to cope. And he didn’t even like his dad. He can’t imagine having to make the choice between two years of foster care or living on the streets all while grieving for your sole family member whom you harbor a lot of love for and  _ actually choosing homelessness _ .

(Soft tortillas or hard shell? He tosses both in the cart.)

A heart attack at 52. Who sees that coming? Certainly not the teenager who, judging from the way she avoided sharing details like they’d cause cancer, was the one to find him and then panicked and ran for it.

(Oh shit, what if she’s a skim milk drinker? She seemed perfectly happy with what was in her cereal this morning but you can never tell. He shoots a distrustfully look at the skim and grabs their usual gallon of 2%. He’ll get some cinnamon rolls to make up for it. The kind with the orange icing. Kids love that shit.)

It’s too big for a kid to handle alone, but here she is, surviving despite it all. That doesn’t mean she has to do it alone. Now that Dean knows, there’s no way he can let her walk away unless he escorts her directly to someone who can help. The thought puts a bad taste in his mouth, but he would do it if that’s what she wanted. If he has his way though… He mentally flashes to those web pages about adoption. He could do it. He only needs to get Krissy on board and… talk to Cas.

His hand itches to dial him up right now and spill everything he knows, but he’s at work and he might get in trouble for taking personal calls. He’ll have to wait. Besides, his cart is full and he’s run out of aisles.

With an overfull cart, he makes his way over to the clothing section and tries his best to distinguish the teen section from the women’s. There are a few women idly perusing the racks, but none with Krissy’s thick dark ponytail. He picks up the pace, head on a swivel. She wouldn’t leave, right? What if she decided their skewed approximation of the apple pie life wasn’t for her, cut her losses, and ran? Isn’t that technically what she did before?

Maybe she’s over in the toothbrush aisle or, hell, he doesn’t know. Shoes? How mortified would she be if he had an employee call her over the intercom? She’d definitely bolt then and he wouldn’t blame her for it one bit.

“ _ There _ you are, grannie.”

Dean careens to a halt and spins around to find Krissy standing up from the bench in front of the fitting room with a stretch. Relief floods his system and she pulls over a cart that he’d assumed was housing merchandise that needed to be returned to the shelves, but he realizes now is clearly her bounty. He’s still getting himself together when she zeros in on his cart and her eyes go wide.

“Wow. Are we having a party?”

“No,” he blurts defensively, snagging a bag of Doritos just as it starts to fall from the basket and setting it more securely atop the four different brands of frozen pizza. “I didn’t know what you-- nevermind.” He shakes his head, stowing his residual panic and focusing on the words coming out of his own mouth “Did you get everything you need?”

A glance over the contents of her load reveals a satisfactory amount of jeans, shirts, and sweaters with a few hygienic odds and ends poking through the mass. He doesn’t look too closely, knowing how private teenagers are (Sam), especially about their underwear. He smirks a little though when he spots a pack of pads half buried under a pair of hot pink fluffy sleep pants. Krissy crosses her arms and juts out her chin.

“You tell me. Is it enough?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Okay, I see how this is going to go. Let’s pay and if we need to come back, we come back.”

He leads the way to the checkout, forcing Krissy to fall in after him. The lines are outrageous, as usual. He considers having them split up, thus giving her further privacy just in case there’s anything in there she really doesn’t want him to see, but the lines--

He jerks to a stop as a thought occurs to him. He wrinkles his nose and slowly turns to face Krissy. He really doesn’t want to do this. One look at her raised eyebrow and he drops his gaze to her shoes, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Uh, so- Not that I’m encouraging anything, but d’you need like,” he hates himself, “condoms or anything?”

Her face flushes bright pink and her mouth pops open to hiss, “ _ Oh my God, no _ !”

Dean pulls a face and soldiers on, knowing it needs to be said and hating that he’s the one that’s gotta say it. “Cuz if you’re doing that you should be doing it safely. It not just about,” he almost chokes on the word, “babies. There’s nasty shit out there.”

“Please shut up. Why are you doing this?” Krissy moans, shoulders hunched and avoiding all eye contact.

“I’m just saying if you need to get one more thing you can do that and meet me in the checkout line and I won’t look in your cart.”

“ _ Oh my God! _ ” With the final hushed exclamation, she sharply wheels her cart around and picks a line at random, staring straight ahead, cheeks a dusty rose. Dean breathes a silent sigh of relief and shoots out a prayer of thanks to the universe and joins her. She keeps her back to him throughout the entire wait, then while she unloads her stuff he feigns interest in a magazine until she’s done. Only once she’s at the other end of the lane putting filled sacks in her cart does he begin unloading the groceries.

After a moment of contemplation, he tosses the magazine onto the conveyor belt as well. There’s a lasagna recipe he wants to try. One word:  _ pepperoni _ .

They make it out of the store without further incident and Dean’s never been more appreciative of Baby’s abundant trunk space. They don’t talk in the car unless you count Krissy's scathing comment about Dean’s taste in music and then they’re back at the house.

Dean turns off the car and clears his throat, prompting Krissy to pause with her hand on the door handle, eyebrows raised in silent question.

“I’m just saying, if you ever change your mind, I keep my condoms in the top drawer of my dresser.”

An interesting array of emotions contort Krissy’s face and then she throws open the door and slams it behind her. Dean winces (he’s gotta stop provoking these girls around Baby) then grins after her when she throws one last glare over her shoulder before disappearing around the back of the car.

Worth it.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

He never does manage to make it anywhere in any of his resolutions to talk to Krissy. Not because he chickens out, but because Krissy gets to him first. Just not in the way he expects. First, he wants to talk to her about going back to school. Instead, she wordlessly joins his and Claire’s study group and subtly asks Dean about his GED study materials until one day a stack of her own mysteriously appear on her desk (thanks Cas). So he figures he can let that sleeping dog lie so long as she makes good on those study materials and follows through with getting her GED. Judging by how quickly she picks things up, he doesn’t think it’ll be long before she pulls ahead of him and Claire.

He doesn’t manage to talk to her about guardianship either. She searches him out first with an agenda of her own after maybe three days of camping out in Sam’s old room. She marches up to him at the kitchen table in the middle of the day while he’s taking another practice test to gauge his progress and drops a small black and white brochure in front of him with a title reading, “Emancipation Process for Minors in Kansas.”

Dean looks up from the soft weathered paper to Krissy’s set jaw and steel gaze and knows any fantasy he had of adoption or whatever else is out the window,

“Basically, I need a steady income, a long-term place to live where I pay rent, and consent from my parents. I’ve got the first one covered and I’m pretty sure they’ll waive the last one since my parents are both-,” Her steel facade slips, but it only for a moment before she takes a steadying breath and starts again. “Are you still good on your offer? Or did that only extend to the sandwich and the shower?”

Dean stares at her, jaw slack as his poor neglected brain struggles to pick up what she’s putting down. When it finally does, he shakes his head. “I don’t want your money. We don’t  _ need _ it.”

“Anything I need,” Krissy presses like she was prepared for this argument exactly. “That’s what you said. This is what I need, Dean. A long-term place to stay where I can prove to a judge that I’m paying rent. Can you help me out or should I stop wasting my time?”

She drives a hard bargain, but…

The next day, she’s in the passenger seat of the Impala, her hair brushed and hanging around her shoulders in thick dark waves, her blouse meticulously ironed and her neatly printed application sitting his her lap while Dean drives her downtown to turn in her application and set a date for the hearing that has to happen for the judge to decide whether or not she’s responsible enough to make an early leap into adulthood.

In that moment, with Krissy standing, back straight and jaw lifted as she hands over her sheaf of papers to the woman behind the counter, he feels weirdly proud of this kid he barely knows. She figured out what she wanted and then she made it happen. Sorta reminds him of Sam.

The drive back to the house is as silent as the drive downtown, but this time a tiny satisfied smile curls Krissy’s lips and the paper in her lap has a bright red court date stamped in the upper right corner: December 3rd.

.

~*~

.

“You don’t know how to be a father any more than I know how to have one.”

The room goes unnaturally still, their forced game of Pictionary coming to an abrupt standstill at Claire’s declaration. Dean and Krissy hold their breath, waiting to see if it’s going to be another explosive argument as Claire stares Cas down, her cheeks pink with high emotion while Cas stares unseeing at the tiny plastic hourglass while the grains of sand race to the bottom.

Then Cas lets out a silent breath and the tensions bleeds from his shoulders as he admits, “I know.”

Claire blinks at him, shocked, and slowly relaxes back into the couch, the wind gone from her sails. Cas tries on a smile, tender and earnest and hopeful and Dean thinks he’s the only one who can see the way it doesn’t quite manage to reach his eyes. Claire smiles hesitantly back and the game recommences. For once, everyone manages to stow their crap and it’s actually fun. Claire stops attacking every action Cas makes and Cas stops trying to be “Claire’s Dad” and settles for being himself. It’s… nice.

Afterward, Cas shyly mentions that he thinks it would be a good idea to do something similar once a week and Krissy immediately agrees.Out of the four of them, she has the best grasp of how this whole domestic family thing is supposed to work. Dean and Claire trade glances and shrug, offering no resistance and thus Family Night is born, which is weird on a lot of levels.

The closest Dean’s ever been to having a family night was one time when he was like twelve and a huge ice storm hit. The roads got so bad even the bars had to close, so dad stayed home on the couch with a bottle of Jack Daniels and him and Dean watched Twilight Zone in dead silence for four hours while Sam stayed in his room, only coming down once when Dean made a frozen pizza. The night ended as most of them did, with Sam storming up to his room having only eaten a slice and a half and dad on the couch griping about Sam’s disobedience while Dean was caught in the middle playing peacemaker.

It wasn’t the worst night, all things considered. Then again, it’s hard to compete with the night your dad died because you didn’t care enough to follow him.

But anyway.

Family Night ends up happening on Thursday nights because somehow they’ve become that family that has so much going on that they are hardly ever home at the same time. Now that her grades are up, Claire has an art class on Monday and Wednesday nights, Dean works every Friday night at the Roadhouse, and Krissy works every Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday night and has an active social life that also nixes Saturday nights. Cas even suggesting the day was scandalous.

So Thursdays. They do shit together. Like board games and trips to the movies and going out for ice cream and renting those clunky bicycles downtown and riding around for a couple hours. It’s nice... It’s weird as hell and half the time Dean is expecting a Stepford-type revelation, but then Claire starts bitching or Krissy goes all silent and sulky or Cas gets pissy and all feels right in the world again. Still weird, but yeah, it’s nice.

The days fly by after that and Krissy clicks into place in their haphazard little family like a puzzle piece fitting into a Krissy-shaped hole he didn’t realize needed to be filled. She seems happy. Or at least she does whenever Dean sees her outside of her hours spent working and the days she disappears to do the mysterious thing she calls, “Hanging out with my friends.” It’s not that Dean doesn’t know teenagers usually have friends and like to see them and shit. He just sort of… forgot.

He can’t think of a single time Claire mentioned even talking to someone at school let alone wanting to see anyone outside of it. He thinks it’s probably his job as the “responsible adult” to step in and make sure she’s adjusting okay (if the homeless dropout has friends, how hard can it be?), but every time he starts to bring it up she glares at him until he shuts up and retreats. Really that’s more Cas’s territory anyway. Besides, Jo still comes over and they all hang out  _ and _ Claire tags along with him to the Roadhouse most days and isn’t afraid to take on the grizzled old men that make up the majority of the clientele at the pool table. By now the regulars all know and greet her and make her feel welcome… at the Roadhouse… which is a bar...

Goddammit. Claire is 16 years old and a regular at the bar and it’s all Dean’s fault. Jesus. He couldn’t possibly be any worse at this whole child rearing thing. She doesn’t have any friends and spends all of her free time at the bar! Fuck him. One of these days Cas is gonna wise up and realize Dean is screwing up his kid and kick him to the curb. Dean wouldn’t even fight it. It’s not like he hasn’t had plenty of time to see it coming. He’d pack up his car and go.

Speaking of Cas, he’s awesome. He really stepped up to the plate with his boring white-collar job and his 401k. Dean wonders sometimes how much he likes it there; he comes home tired and irritated, but he was so particular in his search that Dean figures if it was a problem, he would quit and look elsewhere. It’s not like they’ll be destitute without the extra income for a few months.

Still… sometimes it feels like days go by before Dean gets the chance to really talk to him. He’s being stupid, he knows. He’s not used to having to share Cas yet is all it is. It was the two of them and the open road for so long, it makes sense that he’d need some transition time to accept that it can’t be like that anymore.

Their days of decompressing together on the end of a motel bed watching Looney Tunes after a draining day on the job or a week living in the Impala are over. Now Cas decompresses by himself in the bedroom while Dean cleans up the dinner dishes and Claire retreats to her room and Krissy takes over the TV. It’s different, but he’ll get used to it. It’s fine.

Besides, it’s not like they  _ never _ talk. It’s different now is all. Instead of parking Baby off the side of a ramshackle gravel road under the stars and perching on her hood talking until the wee hours of the morning aided by a couple beers, it’s the swing set in the backyard until Cas calls it quits so he can get some sleep before work in the morning. Somehow, that swing set got turned into the unofficial Serious Conversation location. Dean and Cas talk about Dean working towards his GED and how proud Cas is of him and how there’s no shame in being a dropout and how hard it is for Cas to connect with Claire.

Dean and Claire talk about the pressures of high school and how hard it is to make friends, even though Claire is adamant that she doesn’t care about fitting in or anything that comes with it. She’d rather spend her time with a set of paints or colored pencils or, as of late, charcoal-- _ ugh. _

He and Krissy will sit together and talk about her friends, Aiden and Josephine, who Dean low-key wants to meet, but will never admit it. She tells him how she’s nervous for her hearing in December and she doesn’t ever talk about her past, but sometimes, when he’s in a sharing mood, he tells her about some of the few memories he managed to retain of his mom.

Dean even sees Cas and Claire out there together sometimes, swaying side-by-side, Claire staring down at the dirt beneath her bare feet and Cas with his face turned up to the sky--lips forming words Dean can’t hear and wouldn’t want to. He’s glad they’re finally talking, even if it’s about nothing, but he hopes it’s about the important stuff--the heavy stuff that only they can relate to: Cas’s impending divorce from Amelia, Amelia’s prison sentence, Claire’s would-be rapist’s prison sentence, all the years Cas searched for Claire, all the years Claire thought her father didn’t want her and knew her mom didn’t, and everything in between… and that’s not even taking into account their lives now. There’s Dean and his relationship with Cas, new town, new school, new  _ life _ .

It’s a lot. Maybe too much, but they’ve got no choice but to soldier through and come out the other side stronger and wiser for it. The best part though, even better than the first time he spotted Claire and Krissy out there seeing who could swing the highest without tipping the whole thing to the ground, is the few times they’re all out there together.

The first time it happens, Cas is out there by himself, seated statue-like on a swing, gazing up at the sky (per the norm). Dean peaks out the window, but it’s all heavy gray clouds, darkening the evening prematurely, not a star in sight.

He cuts a lonely figure out there all alone watching the storm roll in. He’s going to get rained on if he doesn’t come in soon. Lightning flashes silently and a stiff wind ruffles Cas’s hair, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch.

Resigned, Dean pulls their coats out of the closet by the front door--leather for him, water-resistant khaki for Cas. He hesitates with his fingers digging into the smooth cool leather of his jacket. He doesn’t know why he wears it anymore. It’s too big, doesn’t fit him right. It gets in the way of his hands and chaffs the back of his neck especially while he’s driving. In a burst of rash impulse, he slides the jacket to the far side of the closet where it’s almost hidden in the shadows and grabs a green coat peppered with pockets and buttons that Cas came home with from a garage sale a little over a month ago.

“Going somewhere?” Krissy asks from the couch, tank top rucked up from her leisurely slouch and her fuzzy hot pink pajama pant covered legs propped up on the coffee table.

“Cas is out back. You coming?” Dean asks as he shrugs into the jacket. It fits surprisingly well.

She waits for the roll of thunder to pass before saying, “We’re gonna get rained on.”

Dean shrugs, flicking a glance at the window. “Grab your coat.” He adds as an afterthought, “and bring Claire.”

Outside, the wind is gusting and lightning flashes in concert with sonorous roars of thunder. Cas sits in the middle, bearing witness to mother nature’s rage in his white button-down dress shirt, black slacks, and sensible shoes.

As Dean approaches, Cas finally lowers his chin and blinks blankly at his sudden presence. “It’s about to rain.”

“Well, aren’t you lucky I showed up,” Dean comments idly as he drapes the trench coat around Cas’s shoulders. He ignores his nonplussed stare and settles onto the swing beside him, pushing off from the hard-packed ground to send himself into motion.

Krissy and Claire tumble out the back door as the first drops begin to fall, brightly colored pajama pants sticking out the bottom of too-thin jackets. Dean ignores the confused look Cas shoots his way and settles into his swing, smiling lightly at the girls’ antics. They giggle and squeal at the icy drops, shoving each other playfully and Claire begins some kind of rain dance.

As the rain begins in earnest, carried into their faces and down the backs of their collars on biting winds, Claire pulls Krissy into the dance and together they strut like chickens across the yard, bobbing their heads, spinning in circles and waving their arms in wanton delight illuminated by lightning and punctuated with thunder. Dean laughs as Claire shimmies, dripping wet and beaming, and turns to find Cas watching him smiling softly, his eyes fond and at peace. Dean grins back and takes his hand, intertwining their fingers as they sway together in the midst of the storm.

Their relative peace is short-lived as Claire and Krissy gang up on Dean. They each grab an arm and hoist him out of his swing, insisting they need him. He lets them pull him away, glancing back at Cas to find him smiling, watching their girls converge upon him, whipping their rain-soaked hair and stomping their feet.

Krissy starts the chant--complete and utter nonsense as far as Dean can tell--but Claire picks it up almost immediately, pitching her voice low as she crab hops around him, her and Krissy both stifling their giggles.

Cas laughs and his rare gummy smile lights up the night so Dean decides, what the hell, and raises his arms over his head and bobs to the beat set by the girls. Claire crows their victory and they’re back to leaping and hopping around the yard. Krissy pulls off an honest to God cartwheel that Claire immediately tries to mimic only to land flat on her back, ending their chant with an “ _ Oomph _ ,” as she hits the ground and Krissy doubles over laughing.

Claire struggles to her feet, coated head to toe in mud and charges after her. With a shriek, Krissy takes off, slipping and sliding with Claire on her heels.

Grinning, Dean stretches a hand out to Cas, still perched on his swing. “It’s up to us then, I guess. The rain can’t do it on its own.”

Whatever “it” is and the effect of their dance isn’t clear, but Cas doesn’t question it for once and takes Dean’s hand, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. Dean doesn’t waste a second, grinding up on Cas like they’re at a rave rather than in their own backyard dancing to the beat of a late fall thunderstorm. It’s freezing and his teeth are starting to chatter as the rain drips down his back, but Cas’s hand is still in his and he starts to sway his hips and Dean knows there’s no place he’d rather be.

With a cry like a dying bear, Krissy finally goes down in a spray of mud while Claire howls her victory for the entire state to hear. From the ground Krissy wheezes something that sounds suspiciously like, “Fuck you,” but Dean pretends he didn’t hear.

“C’mon dad. You gotta get into it,” Claire commands, falling back into her bizarre shuffling crab-step- _ stomp _ while her arms attempt to walk like an Egyptian.

Cas frowns and tries to copy her before shaking his head and stepping away from Dean. Dean only has a moment to mourn the loss of his body heat, but then, with a running start, Cas leaps into an effortless grand jeté. He lands gracefully and moves into a pirouette that sends his trench coat fanning prettily around his waist.

Dean stands in slack-jawed awe for a full five seconds before he starts laughing so hard he slips and falls to his knees with a squelch, clutching his sides as tears form in his eyes and mud soaks through his jeans. Cas pays him no mind, continuing to leap and spin across the drenched patches of clover and creeping charlie until he comes to a stop in front of Dean, arm extended in an arc over his head in his final pose as the girls stomp and holler and one of them whistles.

Cas bows deeply before holding out a hand to Dean and pulling him to his feet. Dean wipes his eyes, still giggling helplessly as he meets Cas’s dancing blue eyes and wide grin as rain washes over their faces. Neither say a word--what is there to say? Cas simply kisses Dean’s knuckles and Dean thinks maybe there’s a silent thank you in there somewhere as they head for the back door, hands linked as the girls race ahead of them, laughing and shivering.

Dean holds Cas back on the porch after the girls duck through door, clammering about towels and hot showers. The door falls shut behind them and Dean fits his hands over Cas’s cheeks and pulls him in for a deep kiss, their numb, rain-slicked lips slipping and mouths hot and needy.

Inside, they all huddle in towels in the living room, clutching mugs of hot chocolate while the TV plays something no one is paying attention to. Instead, they listen raptly to Cas’s stories about growing up in a family with more money than they knew what to do with; which is how he ended up taking ballet lessons with a retired Russian Olympic gold medalist for five years.

“Do you miss it?” Krissy asks.

“Ballet?”

“No, having all that money. Was it hard to go from that to this?”

“No,” Cas answers without hesitation. “This is the easiest choice I’ve ever made.”

.

~*~

.

Two days later Cas almost breaks his neck walking out the front door on his way to work. It’s with ill-grace he bestows upon Dean the covered pie tin and the paper sack of tomatoes that he almost tripped over on the stoop. The pie tin bears a note that reads, “Welcome back.”

Dean walks Cas back out the front door and peeks across the street at Mrs. Tibbetts’ place. The curtains covering the front window swing shut abruptly.

Later that day, Dean sneaks across the street with two jars of his homemade tomato sauce and a plastic-wrapped blueberry pie. On one of the jars is a sticky note that says, “Good to be back. P.S. the pie was  fantastic .”

He wonders if the rhubarb came from her garden as well.

.

~*~

.

A loud thump pulls Dean out of his staring contest with the blinking cursor of his Word document to find Claire facedown on the table, blonde hair askew, and her book on the floor five feet away.

“I’m done with words,” she moans, voice muffled.

Dean closes his laptop and rests his cheek gratefully on the cool lid. “Me too.”

“Why do they have to exist?”

“Communication… something,” Dean mumbles.

Claire scoffs. “We should go back to hieroglyphics.”

“They’d only make us analyze those too. Can you imagine writing an essay like that?”

Claire shudders. “Yeah, okay. Point.”

“Uhh… Everything okay?”

Dean cracks open an eye and sees Krissy paused in the doorway of the kitchen with an empty glass in one hand looking at the discarded copy of  _ 1984 _ with mild concern.

“No,” Claire says emphatically.

Krissy stoops and picks up the book before continuing on to put her glass in the sink. “Was George mean to you?”

“Who?” Claire’s voice is muffled as she’s still face down on the table.

“George Orwell?” Krissy says with a lilt. “The author?”

“Oh, that George. Yeah, he’s a huge jerk for writing such a horrible book.”

Krissy shrugs. “I actually kinda liked it. It was better than Catch 22.”

Dean picks up his head. “You take that back.”

“Oh my God, you’re both nerds. Please shut up,” Claire moans.

Cas appears in the doorway like a wizard, just in time to say, “Don’t tell people to shut up.”

Claire picks up her head and stares flatly at the backdoor opposite her like it’s the camera on The Office. Cas turns to Dean. “You didn’t tell me Charlie was coming over today,” he says, a hint of accusation in his tone.

“Uh, cuz she’s not?” Dean says while wracking his brain for anything they might have agreed to in their last conversation. Other than Charlie’s insistence that Dean rejoin her LARPing again in the spring, he can’t think of anything.

Cas raises his eyebrows. “She’s parked in the driveway.”

Dean gets to his feet as Krissy asks, “Who’s Charlie?” She met Ellen, Bobby, and Jo a few weeks after she moved in, but it seems she’s managed to avoid Charlie and her antics until now.

In that moment, the front door slams open accompanied by a, “‘Sup bitches!”

Dean winces and shoots an apologetic look Cas’s way before hurrying to the living room, ignoring Claire’s grumbling and Krissy’s judgemental stare. Charlie stands in the entryway with her hands on her hips in her bright purple skinny jeans with the iron on rainbow patches on the back pockets, fondly coined as her “Adventure Pants”.

Dean freezes in place. “Oh, no,” he says.

“Oh,  _ yes _ ,” she corrects with a manic smile. She turns her attention over his shoulder where Cas and Krissy have followed him and are hovering in the doorway.

“Today we’re team building. Your crew has rapidly expanded and I realized last night that I hardly know them and as the saying goes, ‘Su familia es mi familia’. So let’s vamos!”

Dean rubs a hand down his face.

“Charlie, I don’t think-,”

“Ah ah,” she interrupts, holding up a finger. “That’s the beauty of this plan, Winchester. There’ll be no thinking required from you because you’re not invited.”

“What?” Dean asks, irrationally hurt. He doesn’t even want to go.

“This is a Bradbury-Novak-,” she turns to Krissy, “What are you?”

Krissy glances once at Dean then replies, “Chambers?”

Charlie nods, “-Chambers outing only. No Winchester required!”

Offended, Dean opens his mouth, but Charlie continues with a thoughtful expression before he can get together a response. “There are too many last names happening in this household. You guys should like,” she makes a motion with her hands, “consolidate.”

Dean flushes. “ _ Charlie _ .”

She puffs out her chest, sending her ponytail swinging. “So, what say ye, fellow explorers? Are you up for an adventure?”

Dead silence.

“I was watching Cupcake Wars,” Cas deadpans.

Startled, Charlie glances at the paused TV. “Oh, uh…”

“What kind of adventure?” Krissy asks.

Charlie shrugs. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Uhh, laser tag?”

Krissy lights up. “I’m in! Cas you should come too. It’ll be super fun. I haven’t been in… well, a long time.”

“I suppose,” Cas agrees reluctantly with a longing glance at the TV. Dean catches his eye and lifts his hands in a ‘what are you gonna do’ gesture.

“Claire!” Krissy shouts, despite only being an open doorway away. “Laser tag!”

“Can’t!” Claire shouts back. “I have a date with George.”

Charlie gasps. “A date?!” She pauses. “Wait. I thought Dean said you’re a lesbian.”

“ _ DEAN! _ ”

Dean jumps. “I- what? I thought it was common knowledge!”

“It wasn’t!

“You shouted it in a parking lot!”

“In a town I was never returning to!”

Dean opens his mouth to retaliate before realizing he’s got nothing. “Okay, okay. Point. Umm, sorry?”

“ _ Ugh! _ ”

“C’mon, Claire,” Krissy demands, stomping into the kitchen. “You don’t even like that book. It’ll be here when we get back.”

Silence from the kitchen.

“ _ Laser tag _ ,” Krissy repeats with emphasis.

Claire’s groan travels to the living room. “ _ Alright _ .”

She stomps into the living room and shoots Charlie a dirty look before crossing her arms over her chest and averting her eyes. Dean purses his lips and makes a decision.

“Hold on. Before you go, Claire, I had a question about uh, semi-colons.”

“Semicolons,” she repeats, upper lip curled in what could almost be a snarl.

“Yep.” Dean ushers her back into the kitchen. “Can we just… We’ll only be a minute.” He prods her along all the way through the kitchen and out the back door where he closes it on the incredulous stares he can feel gorging into his back.

“Give her a chance.”

Claire crosses her arms and turns away. “I don’t know what you’re-,”

“I’m being serious,” Dean says with his best serious face in his most serious tone. “I know you’ve got… whatever, about Jo, but that’s not going anywhere and I know you know it. Don’t take it out on Charlie. Please. She’s great and she deserves better than that.”

Claire works her jaw then finally pushes out a sigh and drops her arms. “Fine, but no promises on me actually liking her.”

“All I ask is you stop biting her head off and give her a chance.”

“Fine.”

A few minutes later, Dean watches from the front stoop as the four of them pile into Charlie’s rattletrap and he waves as they back out of the drive and trundle off down the street. Just as they round the corner, the door across the street opens and Mrs. Tibbetts steps out onto her front porch. Dean swallows thickly.

Her hair is no longer the waterfall of beaded cornrows that Dean remembers so vividly from that day she chased him out of her garden with a frying pan and she walks in a more defined shuffling hunch now, but it’s undeniably her. He stays rooted to the spot as she makes her way across the street and then up his driveway at which point his legs finally remember how to function so he can at least meet her at the head of the drive instead of looming over her on the stoop.

He opens his mouth, positive that this is the part where he says something along the lines of, ‘Good to see you again. How have you been? Thanks for the pie,’ but she beats him to the punch and her punch packs a wallop.

“Did you make that pie?” she demands, crossing her arms and glaring at him with all of the hostility of an angry goose.

Shit. It made her sick. Or it was just  _ bad _ . Oh God, he is so fucked. He knew he should have stuck to tried and true apple. Those blueberries were too tart. He knew it. Fuck.

“Yes, ma’am. I did. I’m sorry if-,”

“The sauce too?” she cuts him off.

“What?”

“The tomato sauce,” she reiterates abruptly. “You make that too?”

“Yeah,” Dean confirms, at a loss now. There’s a lot that can go wrong with pie, especially fruit pies where the ingredient amounts fluctuate depending on the quality of the fruit he’s able to find, but he  _ knows _ his sauce is good. He’s spent years refining it and experimenting to ameliorate it until he couldn’t find anything else to change. It’s  _ damn  _ good sauce.

“By yourself,” she adds.

A spike of irritation shoots through Dean. “ _ Yes _ .”

She purses her lips and appraises him silently for a long moment in which he would like nothing more than to flip her off and go back inside his empty house.

“I like to cook,” she eventually says, throwing Dean for a loop. “Making food is one of the few things I still enjoy at my age, but my arthritis has gotten to the point I can hardly hold a spoon for longer than a couple minutes.”

Dean flashes a glance down at her hands. They’re nobby and swollen under the wrinkles and she clenches them into loose fists under his attention. He looks back up to her face.

“So what does that have to do with me?”

She scowls. “Are ya really going to make me ask?”

“Uhhh,” Dean says, wracking his brain.

She tsks and shakes her head. “Just be at my door bright and early tomorrow morning and I’ll know you’re interested.”

That said she turns and begins her trip back down the driveway. Halfway to the street, she stops and faces him once more. “Color me curious, but what did you steal my tomatoes for that day?”

“Tomato rice soup,” Dean answers on reflex, barely managing to stifle the ‘ma’am’ that rises unbidden to the back of his throat. He’s still not sure whether or not they’re being civil now. “Mom’s recipe. She used to make it for me when I was sick. Sam wasn’t feeling good that day and we didn’t have any tomatoes and dad was… out. ‘sides, I always liked the smell of your tomatoes better than the store ones anyway.”

A smile curls her lips, brightening her face and smoothing away the folds brought on by time. “I’d like that recipe.”

“Sure,” Dean agrees, wondering how they stumbled into a polite conversation.

“You be sure to bring that family of yours ‘round sometime, too. They seem like a riot.”

“Umm, okay.”

“And next rainstorm invite me to your little shindig. I could use a good time.”

Dean's face feels hot. His voice is choked when he asks, “You saw that?”

Mrs. Tibbetts shrugs. “I heard a scream.” A sly smile curls her lips and she raises her eyebrows. “That man of yours has some moves. Not ones I would have expected, but moves.”

Mortified, Dean mutters, “You and me both.”

With a final wave she turns and continues on her way and Dean has just enough presence of mind to call after her, “See you in the morning, Mrs. Tibbetts.”

Inside the house, it hasn’t been this quiet since that first night when Dean couldn’t sleep. Dean shuts the front door with a sigh, making a conscious decision to not think too hard on what he signed himself up for as the house closes in on him. Switching off the TV as he passes by, he heads for the kitchen, pausing in the doorway where his laptop and  _ 1984 _ rest lonely on the table.

There’s nothing better to do so he settles in and opens his laptop to the blank Word document. It appeals to him exactly as much as it did half an hour ago, which is to say, not at all. Fuck it. He closes the laptop with a snap and snatches  _ 1984 _ off the table on his way to the couch. There’s no way it’s better than  _ Catch 22 _ .

That evening, Dean is shaken awake on the couch,  _ 1984 _ still open on his chest where he left it. A rare, but always welcome, snorting laugh draws Dean’s sleep-fogged attention to the entryway where Claire is red-faced and cackling while Charlie waves her arms over her head in enthusiastic mimicry of… something with tentacles? Whatever it is must be hilarious, but fuck if Dean’s awake enough to figure it out.

“Wacky wavy inflatable arm-flailing tube man,” Cas monotones, making his presence known beside him. Dean looks up to find him standing beside the couch, looming over Dean as he squints at Charlie’s antics with a frown. “It’s… hilarious,” he says like this fact has yet to be proven to his satisfaction. Dean cracks a smile and then his jaw as a yawn overcomes him.

“Where’s Krissy?” he asks through it, stretching his arms over his head until something pops.

“Packing.” Dean sits up all at once, mouth open to demand answers. “Charlie invited them over for some ‘girl time’,” Cas explains, visibly disgruntled, his lips pulled into a frown and a deep line apparent between furrowed brows.

All the air punches out of Dean’s lungs and he collapses back down, his arm flopping over his eyes. He’s too old for this shit.

The clomping footfalls accompanied by the sticky slap of flip-flops on hardwood precedes Krissy’s shouted, “Hey Dean, it cool if we take those brownies you made?”

Oh yeah. He forgot about those.

“No!” he bellows back at the same time Charlie exclaims, “Ooo, yes!”

Krissy giggles and ducks into the kitchen, having finished traumatizing the staircase, and a minute later she parades past the couch with a plastic wrapped plate of fudgy brownies in hand and her backpack slung over her shoulder.

“Those look amaaazing,” Charlie gushes.

“Took you long enough,” Claire complains, adjusting her own backpack on her shoulder. “What all did you have to pack? Canada?”

“Screw you. It was like two minutes. Some of us care about things like having clothes that match.”

“My clothes match!”

“Yeah, I bet it’s easy when they’re all black!”

“There are  _ shades- _ ,”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed, Dean intervenes without bothering to sit up. “Claws away girls. And Krissy, I said  _ no _ .” Sitting up enough to be able to peak over the back of the couch he asks Charlie, “You sure you’re up for this?”

“Pfft, yeah,” Charlie says shrilly, her eyes wide with terror. “I so got this.”

Dean sighs and levels a meaningful look at the girls, who roll their eyes in what Dean assumes (for the sake of his sanity) to be compliance.

“Of course you do,” Cas assures her gently and turns a flat stare of his own at the girls that effectively conveys if she doesn’t “got this” they know who is going to suffer for it. It’s much more threatening than Dean’s pitiful attempt at the same.

“Aww, thanks New Best Friend. We’ll catch you cats tomorrow,” Charlie says with parting finger guns.

“ _ Hey _ ,” Dean complains as the moniker sinks in.

“Don’t worry, OG Best Friend,” Charlie pushes open the front door and steps one foot onto the stoop, “I got enough love to go around.”

“Right.” He falls back onto the cushions as the girls follow her out without a backward glance and it does weird things to his insides. “Well  _ bye! _ ” he calls after them.

A rushed chorus of goodbyes addressed to Dean, Cas, and a singular “dad” call back before Claire pulls the door shut, muting their chatter and laughter until car doors slam and silence falls once more.

Dean looks up and meets Cas’s steady but troubled gaze with one of his own. “I don’t like this.”

Cas releases a pent-up breath as relief washes over his entire body like a deflating balloon, loosening his shoulders and erasing the furrow between his brows. “Neither do I. Does this mean I’m not being irrational?”

Dean snorts and sits up, scooting to the side so he only takes up one cushion rather than the entire couch. “No, I’m pretty sure it means we’re both fucked up, but hey, what else is new?” He pats the newly vacated cushion beside him and grabs the remote while Cas perches at his side. “You wanna watch the new episode of Game of Thrones and order Chinese to spite them?”

Cas frowns in consideration.

“Only if we get to take our clothes off after the delivery driver leaves.”

Dean smirks, setting aside the remote. “Why wait? They always take like an hour.”

Cas looks him up and down, his wrinkled t-shirt and tattered jeans not deterring him judging by the way his gaze lingers on his sleep-mussed hair, plush lips, and thick, tanned forearms.

“I don’t want to be rushed.”

Dean nods and takes up the remote again, clicking buttons without rhyme or reason. “Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Yeah, okay.”


	16. Chapter Sixteen

You’d think they’d have learned from the Olive Garden Disaster that special dinner celebrations aren’t their thing, but when the official documentation arrives in the mail decrying Cas as a single man, he insists on a family night out to celebrate. Dean can tell by the unimpressed black stare on Claire’s face that it’s going over about as well as a fart in a spacesuit, but Cas is practically glowing and it’s the happiest Dean has seen him in months so he tries his hardest to make it a success. Therefore, naturally, they never make it off the ground.

Try as he might, there are some things you can’t predict or circumvent and the will and whimsy of teenage girls is one of them.

“I’m not going.”

Dean turns to Krissy, bewildered. She’s never the diva, leaving that fine mantle for Claire to take up with enthusiasm and wield like a double-edged sword, but she’s already stalking up the stairs to her room.

“If she’s not going, I’m not going,” Claire spits and follows in Krissy’s wake, belatedly punctuating her exit with a distant slam of her door.

Dean turns to Cas, wide-eyed, while Cas stares morosely at the stairs, divorce certificate held loosely between his fingers.

“Uh, divide and conquer?” Dean offers, voice low. Cas turns a flat look his way and, yeah, Dean doesn’t see it making a lick of a difference either, but it’s kinda their job to put in an honest effort, right? “Right. So, I’ll take Krissy obviously-,”

“Her parents divorced when she was young,” Cas says tonelessly. “She may still be sensitive on the subject. I didn’t consider it to be an obstacle.

“You- What? How the hell did you get her to tell you that?” Dean has yet to be successful in getting her to open up about her past, save that day in the Walmart parking lot. And he’s  _ tried _ . A lot.

Cas shrugs. “We spend a lot of time together in the evenings when you and Claire are both gone. I’ve found if I sit quietly she’ll talk. She only wants someone to listen.” He sighs, looking suddenly exhausted. “Unlike Claire, who wants someone to fight. I haven’t managed to find a way to connect with her.”

“Right.” Claire’s a tough cookie, for sure. “When did- Why didn’t you tell me?” Frankly, he’s offended. Him and Cas are supposed to be partners in this, but he’s been sitting on information about Krissy’s past for who knows how long and didn’t say a thing to Dean. What else has she told him?

“She only just told me last weekend. You were working a closing shift and Claire was with you for studying purposes.” Dean doesn’t think he’s imagining Cas’s bitter tone.

“Right. So, divide and conquer?”

Cas frowns. “I suppose we should make an effort although it’s futile.”

“That’s the spirit, Eeyore.” Dean rolls his eyes.

They’re going to have a discussion about Cas’s defeatist attitude but first things first, he’s gotta go navigate the minefield that is teenage emotions.

They make their silent trek up the stairs before they spit: Dean stopping at Krissy’s door on the left while Cas continues down to Claire’s door on the right. Sucking in a fortifying breath, Dean knocks lightly. “Can I come in?”

The sigh directly on the other side of the door and the way it immediately clicks open tells him that she was expecting him. He’s taking that as a good sign.

“Hey.” Dean shuts the door behind him as Krissy settles on her bed, drawing her knees to her chest and burrowing her toes in the blanket, and futzes around before pulling out Sam’s old desk chair and swinging his leg over the seat to sit facing Krissy over the back.

It’s weird how Sam’s old room doesn’t look like it was Sam’s at all. There’s still his old desk and for some reason Krissy kept the Tesla poster (the scientist, not the car) and a few of his old books, but there’s also a makeup bag on the dresser and a soft cream colored cardigan hanging halfway out of the dirty clothes hamper and a half-eaten bag of gummy worms on the desk beside a dog-eared Wonder Woman comic which--let’s be real here--aren’t so much out of place as, the gummy worms wouldn’t have survived the trip home from the store and Sam would  _ never _ fold the corner of a page  _ ever _ .

It’s weird less because it used to be Sam’s space and more because after having seen how Claire has clearly stamped her mark on her space (and then some) it’s painfully obvious Krissy has not. He’ll have to worry about that later though. He can only handle one problem at a time, but it bears thinking about. How would one handle such a thing? Maybe he’ll just send her to the store with Charlie and Jo like Claire did and let it happen. It might be best to wait until after her Emancipation hearing though.

He clears his throat, hyper-aware of the silence. “You uh, wanna talk about it?”

“Do I have a choice?” she fires back, a light heat to her words.

“Always.” Dean doesn’t hesitate and is rewarded by the flash of surprise over her face and her tightly wound arms relaxing around her legs. “I’m not gonna make you do anything you don’t want to. If you don’t want to go, fine. If you don’t want to talk, also fine. I just...” he waffles his hand in the air before letting it fall to the back of the chair. “D’you want to talk about it?”

Krissy drops her eyes to her knees, but she doesn’t say no and he remembers what Cas said about sitting quietly. So silently, he drums his thumbs on the back of the chair and tries to pretend like the waiting isn’t making him a little crazy.

He doesn’t even last a full minute before breaking.

“So Wonder Woman, huh?” He twists around to grab it off their desk and it flops over his hand, soft with use and age. He softens his touch, very aware of Krissy’s hard, watchful stare. “This is an older. No New 52?”

She doesn’t answer, jaw locked tight. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to put two and two together.

Gently he says, “Your dad gave this to you, didn’t he?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. It’s obvious, despite its age and worn appearance, it has been cherished and well-cared for. Stuff like this doesn’t survive a year on the streets unless it’s damn important.

He snorts softly. “My old man gave me a Playboy once. Not sure that counts though since it was his and he threw it at the back of my head for waking him up.” His smile sours. He doesn’t say how he only woke him up in the first place because he forgot to pick Sam up from school and Dean needed the keys out of his pocket to do it for him. He doesn’t tell her about the whiskey bottle that followed the skin mag and left a scar behind his left ear.

He returns the comic to the desk with the reverence it deserves and clears his throat. “It’s good. That you have good things to remember your dad by, I mean. Important.” He trails off, frowning at the carpet, trying and failing to convince himself that he isn’t jealous. It’s not like it matters. Both of their dads are dead either way--whether they’re missed or not.

“It’d be cool,” Krissy’s soft voice breaks him out of his thoughts. “The New 52. If you want…”

“Hell yeah.” This, he can work with. “I dunno how many issues are out yet, but I’ll see what I can do. D’you think Claire would want…”

He trails off as Krissy cracks a smile, finally.

“She thinks I’m a gigantic nerd for watching  _ Flash _ .”

Dean clucks disapprovingly. “She’s such an art hoe.”

A surprised laugh escapes only to be quickly muffled by the back of her hand. “You need to take a break from the internet. You’re becoming too savvy with our lingo.”

“It’s not me you should be worried about. I’m pretty sure I saw Cas on Tumbling the other day.”

“Tumblr?” she asks, horrified.

“Yeah, that. He was looking at like, pictures of cats and bee facts, but still. Be afraid.”

Their smiles fade as Claire’s unmistakable voice carries through the closed door. “ _ What makes you think I would ever want to celebrate the ‘official’ destruction of my family! _ ”

Dean cringes as the following door slam rattles the house. There is absolute silence for almost longer than he can hold his breath before finally, he hears slow shuffling footfalls creaking down the stairs. He bites his lip and glances over at Krissy, taking in her pinched expression and her white-knuckled grip on her blanket.

“It’ll be okay.” He doesn’t know why he’s whispering or what he’s trying to assure her of, but he says it again. “We’ll be okay.”

She nods tightly, buying his empty promise and not even having the sense to ask for a gift receipt.

She licks her lips and asks, “Hey, Dean?”

“What’s up?”

“I, umm… Thanks. For, you know.” She shrugs, not looking him in the eye.

“‘Course. You know if you need anything I’m here for you. Cas too. We might not have the paper to prove it, but we’re family. All of us.

She bites her lip and frowns down at her lap.

“I mean it,” Dean says, “whether you like it or not, we’re looking out for you now and even if you decide you don’t want to stay here anymore, we’re not going to let you go back out on the streets, alright?”

Her lower lips quivers and it’s the only warning Dean gets before she’s tripping out of bed, feet tangled in her blanket. He lurches to his feet to catch her, nearly toppling the desk chair to the floor in the process, then she’s throwing her arms around his waist and burying her nose in his chest. He only hesitates a second (surprised doesn’t cover it) before he hooks an arm around her shoulders and settles his opposite hand against the back of her head.

Voice muffled and barely there, he hears her say, “I want to stay.”

A breath of relief punches out of his gut, yet he still finds himself asking, “Are you sure? I mean, you can change your mind.”

With a sniff, Krissy pulls back and mops at her eyes. “I won’t.”

Hearing her say it warms Dean’s heart, but he silently resolves not to hold her to it, just in case.

“You sure you don’t want to come to dinner? I promise me and Cas won’t make out on the table or anything, but footsie is free game.”

She snorts and sinks down onto the end of her bed. Dean retakes his chair. “I umm… My parents got divorced when I was nine and my dad was a lot like Cas is. Relieved, you know? Like he was finally free of an awful burden. And mom, well she took off. Never heard from her again until there was a police officer knocking on our door letting us know they found her body. I was 14 and she overdosed.”

An involuntary shuddering breath cuts her off and she rubs the heels of her hands into her eyes.

“Anyway,” she clears her throat, “I spent a long time being angry and blaming my dad for running her off or whatever it was…” She laughs humorlessly. “It was a lot of wasted time. Years. Tonight just brought back a lot of memories, a lot of- of regret.

“You gotta let that go, kiddo. There’s nothin’ you can do about it now except put it down and move on.”

A sardonic smile tugs her lips. “Thanks for the advice,  _ kettle _ .”

Dean grins. “You got no idea.”

At Krissy’s curious stare he takes a deep breath. You give a little, you get a little. And vice versa.

“My dad was an alcoholic--No. He was a drunk. Alcoholics can admit they have a problem.” He takes another breath and folds his hands in his lap to keep them from shaking. “He was a shit dad, honestly. I did most of the heavy lifting when it came to taking care of Sammy-,”

“Who’s Sammy?”

Dean looks up in surprise. “My little brother. Haven’t I mentioned him?” He wracks his brain trying to come up with the last time he Skyped Sam and if Krissy was around. He comes up with bupkis.

“In passing,” she shrugs, “but you never really said.”

“Oh. Well, yeah, he’s my nerdy little brother. This was his room growing up actually.”

Krissy blinks and looks around with new eyes. She lingers on the Tesla poster and the old second-hand copy of Pride and Prejudice on the desk.

“Anyway, him and dad were always at each other’s throats all the damn time about everything: dad’s drinking, Sam’s books on the kitchen table, dad’s drinking, Sam forgetting to flush, dad being too drunk and forgetting to flush and blaming Sam--that kind of thing. And whenever they went at it, it was always me stuck it the middle, trying to keep the peace. Then when they were done, Sam would go shut himself in his room to simmer and dad would hit the bottle twice as hard and bitch to me about the shit job I was doing until he passed out and then I cleaned up the bottles and got dad in bed so when Sam came down the next morning it wouldn’t start all over again. Every time. That’s how it went. Until…”

He sucks in a breath and lets it out. “Until Christmas Eve a few years ago. Sam was visiting from college for the holidays, he got a full ride to Stanford, the nerd, and him and dad got into it like usual, only dad was the one to storm off, right outside to his truck and I-,” his voice cracks. “I stayed with Sam while dad wrapped his truck around a tree, dead on site.”

He can’t meet Krissy’s eyes. He’s not sure what made him tell the whole shitty story, but it’s out now and maybe she can learn from his shortcomings better than he ever could.

“What was the fight about?”

“That’s the kicker, isn’t it? “Me.” Dean looks up, a bitter twist to his lips. “Sam wanted me to go back to school, do something with my life. Dad didn’t want to be left alone in the house where he watched his wife die.”

“And you?” she asks like it’s that easy. “What was your opinion?”

“I wanted dad not to drown in his own vomit,” Dean says roughly.

“You wanted out,” she corrects him, unflinching.

Dean sucks in a breath to tells her where to stick her opinion, then lets out a shaking laugh and scrubs his hand down his face. “ _ God _ , yes.”

She nods like she expected nothing less, then throws his own words back in his face. “Let it go, Dean. Put it down and move on. There’s nothing you can do about it now.”

“Wish it was that simple.”

“No shit,” she replies. He laughs as a knock sounds against the door. Krissy rolls her eyes. “Come in.”

The door opens and Cas steps in, looking between the pair of them warily.

“Hey man, we were just wrapping up.” He turns back to Krissy. “You good?” She nods like it should be obvious. “You think you can keep Claire from blowing anything up until we get back?”

She shoots him an unimpressed look and says, “I’ll manage.”

“Awesome.” He swivels to Cas, still hovering in the doorway, lips pressed thin and shoulders tense. “Cas buddy, you, me, burgers. How’s that sound?”

He narrows his eyes. “Actually, I was thinking-,”

“Burgers it is!” Dean hops up and wraps an arm around his shoulders, guiding him out of Krissy’s room.

“Shut the door!” she yells after them when they’re not even two steps into the hall. He rolls his eyes and tugs it shut.

“Teenagers.”

.

~*~

.

An hour later, they’re parked thirty minutes outside of town on the side of a dirt road overlooking a field of soybeans, a sack of burgers and fries resting between them and twin shakes in hand. They don’t say much until the burgers are gone and there’s nothing left to do but sit and slurp.

Dean breaks the silence first. “You know, the first time you told me about Claire was over burgers and shakes.”

Cas doesn’t respond for a long minute as he contemplates the meaning of existence via the contents of his milkshake. “I did,” he agrees without looking up or easing his harsh frown.

Dean nudges his knee with his foot. “Never thought we’d end up here,” he tries.

It was a turning point; he can see that now. Up until that point, they’d been two bachelors living the good life without limits or responsibilities or pasts. They didn’t know each other beyond the surface of the immediate present. Cas’s confession, his dip below that surface into the dark depths that built him and brought him to Dean, shattered that simplicity and revealed reality.

They weren’t devoid of responsibility, they were running from it.

Dean more so than Cas, but still.

Up until that point they could have parted ways and maybe Dean would have missed his company, but it wouldn’t have taken too long for Cas to fade into a pleasant memory of a simple time and that would have been that. Had Cas expressed any interest in walking away before then Dean wouldn’t have tried to stop him. They’d be done. Over. Fin.

But after finding out about Amelia and Claire, he was invested. He wanted more, to understand Cas--his thoughts, desires, drive--everything that makes him  _ him _ . And he got it.

So when they found Claire, entirely by chance as it was, Dean was 100% committed to doing whatever it took to take her in and link father and daughter once more because he knew Cas would accept nothing less.

It took Cas bringing up the possibility of Dean carrying on without them for Dean to even realize the option was on the table. Not that it mattered. He didn’t need to consider it. He’d found his home and it was wherever Cas went. Claire was gifted a place in that family simply by association long before she chiseled out her own space. Now, Cas or no Cas, Dean will be there for her no matter what else happens.

Krissy is the same. It may not be reflected on paper, but they’re a family now, all four of them--plus Sam of course. Dean’s little found-family of misfits and screw-ups that he wouldn’t trade for the world. Looking back at that day when Cas finally opened up, Dean can’t see how it could have worked out any better. He wouldn’t change a thing.

“What are you thinking about?”

Dean blinks and finds Cas watching him curiously, milkshake slowly melting between his hands.

“You,” Dean decides to answer honestly, “Claire, Krissy. How lucky I am.”

Cas’s expression softens into something like adoration and Dean finds he can’t hold his gaze anymore. He sniffs and plucks at the frayed end of his bootlace. It seems he’s lost his aglet.

“You’re happy,” Cas states, not a question.

Dean looks up, surprised. “Course. Aren’t you?”

Cas blinks once then turns his gaze to the stars, chin tipped up, hiding his expression from Dean. He sips his milkshake.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Dean arrives on Mrs. Tibbetts’ doorstep bright and early the day before Thanksgiving with his favorite mixing bowl on his hip and an assortment of oversized utensils in a plastic sack in hand.

“You’re late,” she says before the door is even open proper.

“Not my fault,” Dean is quick to say.” Cas lost his tie and it was like the Battle of Karansebes until we found it.”

He steps over the threshold and slips out of his shoes before stepping onto the plush carpet. He remembers his first time stopping over and how difficult it was not to gawk at the thick, heavy curtains, the random knick-knacks filling the corner hutch, and the ancient boxy TV settled in the elaborate entertainment center. All in all, it looks a lot like any old widow’s home and a lot less like the hellscape of his younger self’s imagination.

He follows Mrs. T across the living room, through a narrow hallway with an impractically placed stacked washer and dryer and into the kitchen where she already has three pots on the stove and the oven pre-heating. Dean frowns at the quietly steaming broccoli.

“You were supposed to wait for me to chop the broccoli.”

“You’re late,” Mrs. T repeats. “I held off on the potatoes.”

Dean rolls his eyes (carefully out of her sight) and decides to accept the small miracle and get to work. Her arthritis isn’t so bad that she can’t handle chopping a few veggies, but their plan was to take it easy and not take any chances since Dean won’t be around to help out tomorrow if she overdoes it today. He’s got his own Thanksgiving to attend. Mashing the sweet potatoes for the pie would have knocked her out.

“They done boiling?” he asks, eyeing the largest pot on the stove.

She doesn’t answer as she picks up a fork and gives one an evaluative stab. “I’d say so. You get those mashed and I’ll do the crust. After the pies are done we can get started on the turkey.”

Dean pulls a face, but dutifully fishes his potato masher out of his plastic sack and sets his mixing bowl on the counter. “I still don’t understand why we need roasted  _ and _ fried turkey,” he complains. He hates deep frying. Somehow, he always seems to get splashed.

“That’s cuz you white. Don’t forget-,”

“To leave some lumps,” Dean finishes for her. “Yeah, I got it.”

He retrieves several potatoes, adds them to his bowl, and starts smashing. He’s going to have to break down and get one of those fancy-pants stand mixers at this rate.

.

~*~

.

The whole fight is stupid. It’s over nothing and everything at the same time--an accumulation of little things over months until finally it’s one little thing too many and he  _ snaps _ . It’s the stress of a new job, a new city, a new home, a new daughter. It’s the hours Dean works at the bar, Claire’s attitude, Krissy’s arrival, the looming holidays, pizza instead of meatball subs. Pick one or pick them all and you won’t be wrong.

It’s one question.

“What the fuck is your  _ problem _ ?”

It’s Dean who snaps. He’s spent all day baking and cooking and getting snipped and snapped at and snipping and snapping back and now he’s finally home and Cas… Cas is the same as he’s been for months now.

Cas stares him down, cool and emotionless like polished concrete. Without breaking eye contact he says, “Girls, go to your rooms, please.”

Dean grits his teeth as the girls drop their shoes and troop up the stairs without argument. Cas waits until the sound of their doors latching shut drifts down to them, one after another, and then turns back to Dean.

“Do you have a concern you’d like to address, Dean?”

“Do  _ you _ ?” Dean fires back, keeping his fists clenched at his sides to avoid the temptation of giving Cas a good hard shove to wipe that calm, cool, and collected look off his face. He  _ hates _ it. “You’ve been shutting me out for months now. Are you gonna spill or what? What’s your problem?”

The mask doesn’t so much as quiver. “I don’t have a-,”

“Bullshit!  _ Bull. Shit _ . You can only pretend nothing is wrong for so long before you explode, so come on. Let me have it! Tell me what it is.”

“I’m fine.”

With a disgusted scoff, Dean throws up his hands and half-turns away before changing his mind and jabbing an accusing finger at Cas’s chest. “Don’t lie to me. You can fake it and avoid it all you want, but don’t _lie_ straight to my face. I’m not blind or stupid and neither are the girls. You think you’re doing such a good job fooling us, but we _all_ know. We’ve been sitting on pins and needles for weeks now waiting for the other shoe to drop, for you to _say_ _something_ , and I’m damn tired of it. So spit it out. _Talk to me._ Get mad! Tell me what’s wrong!”

Cas stares at Dean for a long minute, blue eyes flicking back and forth between Dean’s as though searching for hidden depths. There’s nothing to find. Dean has already laid it all out there; all that’s left is for Cas to pick it up.

“I need to think.” Cas turns his back on Dean and strides over to the closet by the door. It’s not until he pulls out his trench coat that Dean’s brain finishes buffering and comes back online.

“Wha- Cas. Where are you-? You can’t.”

“I need to think.”

He shrugs on his coat and steps into his dress shoes, reaching for the doorknob without bothering to do up the laces. He opens the front door.

Despite his legs feeling like that of a rusted tin man Dean manages to dart forward and latch onto the sleeve of Cas’s coat, digging his fingers into the material as he desperately searches his eyes.

“Please. You can’t-,”

The facade cracks as Cas’s gaze is forced to meet Dean’s. “I can’t  _ think _ !” he cries.

Only Dean hears  _ I can’t breathe _ and it hits him like a slap. He lets go.

“Cas,” he exhales.

Cas shakes his head, something like regret in his gaze and then he steps out onto the stoop and pulls the door shut behind him, leaving Dean on the other side.

He stands there for a long time, fingers numb and a feeling in his chest reminiscent of something precious, shattered. He could go after him. He could try and stop him, convince him to come home and talk it out or not talk it out. Anything if it means he doesn’t leave.

But he doesn’t because Cas can’t breathe because Dean is the one smothering him.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed when small tentative hands wrap around his left bicep followed by another pair on his right forearm. The voices sound like they’re underwater, garbled and indistinct, but close.

“It’ll be okay, Dean.”

“Come sit down.”

He lets himself be guided until the backs of his knees hit the couch and he sits down hard, shocking him back into responsiveness. He has to blink several times to clear his vision, mortified to find tears in his eyes and Krissy and Claire on either side of him, faces pinched with worry and concern.

“I’m fine,” he chokes. He clears his throat and pats Claire’s knee. “It’ll be fine. We’ll… We’ll go see Moana a different night. He’ll come back.”

That, at least, he’s sure of. Cas would never abandon Claire. He just… didn’t want to go to a movie tonight. Technically it’s only Wednesday so it’s not Family Night. He’s well within his rights… even if tomorrow is Thanksgiving. How is he going to explain this to Ellen and Bobby? Maybe Cas will be back before they’re due at the Singer-Harvelle’s for dinner. Maybe this will have all blown over by then. Maybe Dean will wake up and take comfort that it was only a nightmare.

A head falls onto his shoulder, long blonde hair snagging in the sandpapery scruff coating his jaw. He pats a knee and repeats, “He’ll come back.”

.

~*~

.

The next morning, Dean wakes up in the center of the bed, body aching and tired from staying up far too late banging around in the garage getting nothing done fruitlessly waiting for Cas to come back. He rolls to his side and buries his face in Cas’s pillow, brain sluggish in identifying why the fuck he’s even awake. The room is only just beginning to brighten as the sun makes it’s way to the horizon. Hell, he’s only been asleep for-

A muffled thump at the foot of the bed has Dean bolting upright, heart in his throat.

Cas is standing there, two duffel bags resting at his feet and an impassive expression on his face. “Get up. It’s time to go.”

Dean's mouth goes dry. Is he being kicked out? He works his throat, but no sound comes out and he couldn’t make his legs work if he wanted to. All he can do is stare at Cas while Cas stares at the blank wall over his head.

He looks as tired as Dean feels: red-rimmed eyes, wild hair, five o'clock shadow, and some impressive dark circles under his eyes. All Dean can think is he doesn’t want to go.  _ Where have you been? Please don’t make me leave. _

He would. He  _ will _ . If it means Cas and the girls get to have a decent place to stay. If it means Cas doesn’t have to start over. He’ll pack his shit, grab his keys, and get out of their way. Well… His eyes settle on the duffel bags. He doesn’t have to worry about packing at least. As his stomach churns and twists, he hopes Cas remembered to grab his Batman boxers. If he has to stand up right now he’s going to ralph all over the bedsheets and he didn’t even drink last night. Not a single drop. He couldn’t do it, didn’t even want to. Not with the girls right there offering their support and holding back their tears.

The bedroom door flies open as he’s considering the best way to beg for a second chance (Third? Fourth? What number is he up to anyway?) and Claire stomps in, hair frizzy and sleep tousled where it escapes her thick braid, but her jaw is sharp and her eyes are narrowed into slits.

“Why is Krissy packing?” she demands.

Dean’s stomach drops to the floor.

“We’re all packing,” Cas responds tonelessly. The hysteria building at the base of Dean’s throat wanes abruptly, leaving him disoriented and confused. “You need to-,”

“ _ Why _ are we all packing?” Claire persists, crossing her arms over her Pikachu t-shirt. She waits.

Cas huffs an impatient breath through his nose and flexes his jaw. “Pack for roughly a week. Only the essentials. You have five minutes. Meet us in the living room when you’re done.”

“A  _ week _ ,” she echoes harshly. “Are we just supposed to skive off school and work?”

“I’ve already made arrangements. The school, Krissy’s employer, and Ellen have all been made aware of our last minute travel plans.”

Claire clenches her jaw and pinches her lips together as she stares him down--fire to his ice. Finally, she uncrosses her arms and reaches for the door. “That was a dick move, walking out on us last night. This better be a lead up to a kickass apology.”

“Language,” Cas murmurs on reflex.

Claire shoots a disgusted look over her shoulder and spits, “Fuck. You.” Then she yanks the door shut behind her while Cas stares at it like he’s carved from stone. Only months of living in each other’s pockets has trained Dean to see the regret in his eyes.

He doesn’t look at Dean as he slings an overfull duffel over each shoulder and repeats softly, “Five minutes,” before following after his daughter and closing the door behind him with a near-silent  _ snick _ .

Dean listens to his footsteps recede down the hall and then slowly relaxes back into the pillows. He digs the heels of his hands into his eyes and releases a shaky breath. His hands are trembling. He still doesn’t know what the fuck is going on, but supposedly he’s not being kicked out. It’s a start.

He only gives himself a minute to wallow before swinging his feet over the edge of the bed with a grunt and blinking the spots out of his eyes as he stands to do as he’s told. Here goes everything.

Preparing for the day would be much easier if half his stuff wasn’t missing. After he takes care of business in the toilet, he moves to the sink to wash his hands and brush his teeth, but there aren’t any toothbrushes in the holder and the cabinet is missing not only the toothpaste but the deodorant too. The only thing that keeps him from falling into a full-blown panic attack is the definitive presence of his clothes in the dresser. At a glance, he can tell several things are missing, but the vast majority remains.

Taking a fortifying breath, he changes into his Batman undies (for courage), jeans, and a soft worn t-shirt and exits the bedroom in search of those duffels so he can finish his morning routine. He can’t deal with this bullshit until he’s brushed his teeth. There’s no way.

Dean’s insistence on good hygiene delays their meeting time by precious minutes, but the relief on the girls’ faces as they rush back up the stairs for forgotten items is all the incentive Dean needs to ensure he brushes for the full recommended two minutes, followed by a thorough flossing, and a thick slathering of deodorant before he makes his way back downstairs on the heels of Krissy and Claire, oversize backpacks slung over their shoulders and pillows tucked under their arms.

Cas doesn’t say a word, woodenly passing out Poptarts despite the numerous times Dean has told him that PopTarts aren’t meant to substitute an entire meal while Dean repacks his toiletries. When Dean stands Cas hands him a foil wrapped pack of Poptarts and the keys to the Impala then hauls their bags onto his shoulders and marches out the front door without checking that they follow. Behind his back, the girls turn twin concerned expressions onto Dean, but all he can do is shrug and gesture for them to follow, hoping this isn’t going as bad as he feels it is as he locks the front door behind them.

In the driveway, Cas is slamming the trunk and making his way to the passenger seat while the girls stand warily where the front walk meets the drive. He ignores them, and Dean, and gets in the car, belting in without a word only to stare directly ahead with his hands folded neatly in his lap. Waiting.

Dean and the girls trade glances one more time before Claire huffs an irritated breath and stalks off to the car where she clambers into the backseat, hauling her backpack and pillow with her. Krissy hesitantly follows. Outnumbered, there’s nothing Dean can do save circle the car and slide into the driver’s seat.

The key turns in the ignition and Baby rumbles to life before settling into a content purr. Dean looks to Cas.

“Cas-,”

“Drive,” Cas instructs without breaking his staring contest with the garage.

Dean shifts into reverse. “Where?”

Cas relaxes, but just barely at the shift and turns to stare out his window. “Does it matter?”

Dean supposes it doesn’t and backs out of the drive without another word.

Once they cross the Lawrence city limits something hot and tight that’s been building in Dean’s chest for weeks, bursts with the instant relief of a dam that’s been tasked with holding back too much. With a private grin, he points Baby west, towards the Rockies, and guns the engine.

Or maybe it wasn’t in his chest. Maybe it was something in that town, in that house that’s been affecting all of them, he thinks as he watches Cas roll down his window despite the late November chill, Krissy slouch back in her seat to watch the scenery roll past, and Claire pull out her sketchbook and colored pencils, thankfully respecting his very simple  _ No Charcoal in Baby _ rule.

Dean flips on the stereo and smirks as Claire rolls her eyes and yanks out her earbuds and Krissy taps her finger against her thigh to the beat and closes her eyes. Cas rests his head on the door, his elbow acting as a cushion while the wind rakes through his hair making it wild. Claire discreetly reaches forward between the seat and the door and depresses the lock.

Something slots into place around the proximity of Dean’s heart. Something that had shaken loose over the past few weeks, months maybe, and for the first time in a long time he feels like he’s home.

.

~*~

.

They drive the full day, only stopping for the necessities: food, potty breaks, and to stand on top of a mountain surrounded by snow and facing the luminous orange of the late afternoon sun. They don’t speak much; when they do, it’s only as it’s relevant to the here and now (“I need to pee.” “Look at that cloud.” “D’you think that diner’s got any decent pie?”), but after Cas wakes up from his first nap he reaches across the divide and holds out his hand. It doesn’t take any thought at all for Dean to reach out and take it.

They hold each other all the way up the mountain and back down the other side and on into the night while Claire and Krissy snore softly, heads tipped together in the back, sending Dean into almost forgotten memories of him and Sam huddled together in that same backseat.

Sometime around three in the morning, they finally roll into the parking lot of a ramshackle motel. In the dark musty room with Krissy and Claire passed out together in one bed and Cas secured tightly against his chest in the other, Dean finally feels at peace, like the pieces of himself that have been threatening to shake apart have finally settled and been pressed back together.

It’s not until he’s on the brink of sleep that he once again wonders what exactly Cas’s plan is.

.

~*~

.

“Where are we going, Cas?”

It took the majority of the morning and the girls dropping off on a midday nap for Dean to gather the stones to ask. Cas had them up and in the car at the crack of dawn once again, only this time he was insistent that Dean continues west rather than swinging south like he’d wanted. Then, an hour ago, he’d crossed the California border and Cas’s directions got much more specific and the Bad Feeling returned to Dean’s gut with a vengeance.

For a moment, Cas doesn’t answer and Dean thinks it’s going to be more of yesterday’s gruff commands, but Cas takes a breath and looks at Dean.

“I’m taking you to Sam.”

The reflexive trill of excitement that flutters behind Dean’s ribs is cut short as Cas’s phrasing sinks in. ‘ _ I’m taking you to Sam _ .’  **Taking** . Like one would take a naughty child to time out or like taking trash to the curb. He can feel Cas’s stare boring into the side of his face, but he can’t bring himself to meet it. Instead, he clears his throat roughly and slaps his turn signal as he passes a Dodge Neon.

“Sam know?” he asks roughly.

“He suggested it,” Cas says carefully, still staring. Dean can’t help but wonder what Cas isn’t saying. Is he tired of Dean? One fight and he’s returning Dean to the closest thing he’s got to a keeper?

And  _ fuck _ . Cas already talked to Sam and made  _ arrangements _ . Betrayal and jealousy churn in his stomach. He  _ knows _ he’s being stupid. He’s  _ pretty sure  _ he’s being stupid.  _ Maybe _ he’s being stupid. But what if he’s not?

He still doesn’t know what this is about and yet here he is jumping to conclusions. Maybe Sam invited them all over for an impromptu late Thanksgiving? Yeah. Right. All he knows is that whatever is going on directly correlates with their fight yesterday and he’s going to have to wait and see how bad the fallout is. The thought vanishes all the remaining good feelings of yesterday. He slouches down in his seat and doesn’t notice Cas finally drop his gaze to stare sightlessly at his own lap.

Hours later, Dean is pulling into Sam’s apartment complex for the first time, the dorm long since left behind.

Dean’s wound as tight as he’ll go, the girls are silent and wary in the back, having immediately caught on to the change of mood upon waking, and Cas… well, Cas is showing about as much emotion as a brick and it’s freaking Dean the fuck out.

With an air of impending demise, they gather their things and march across the parking lot to the buzzer by the door.

“2c,” Cas rumbles.

Dean punches the button beside the peeling ‘2c’ and they all wait in uncomfortable silence until the speaker crackles to life and Sam’s voice fades in, tinny and distant.

“Hello?”

“Hey Sam,” Dean says, no small amount of relief flooding his chest. It has been way too long. Sam doesn’t say anything else, but after a brief pause, the door begins to buzz as it unlocks. Dean tugs it open and they all pile inside the cramped stairwell and climb.

Sam is waiting for them in the hallway when they push through the stairwell door onto the third floor and Dean’s first instinct is to drop his duffel to the floor and pull his brother into a giant bear hug and beg him to come home and tell him all about his stupid insecurities and how much he wants Cas to be happy and not abandon him on his baby brother’s doorstep four states away.

Instead, the first thing that comes out of his mouth is, “God, have you gotten  _ taller _ ?” The weirdly hesitant look melts off Sam’s face to be replaced by the classic Bitchface #4. Damn, he’s missed that. “And what’s with the hair? You college boys too good for barber shops now?”

“Shut up.” Sam rolls his eyes and steps forward, one stride covering half the hallway, and pulls Dean into a tight hug. Dean relaxes into it, automatically looking to his brother for the support he needs to get through whatever is going on with him and Cas. “Missed you too, jerk.”

Dean scoffs softly and pulls away. “Yeah whatever, bitch.”

“Oh, he’s allowed to cuss now?” Claire mutters petulantly behind him.

“I think it was a term of endearment,” Krissy says.

“If I say it’s because I love you, can I call you a bitch?”

“Language,” Cas interjects, causing Claire to flare her palms out indignantly.

Sam chuckles. Then, enthusiasm lighting his face, he bounces forward and pulls Cas into a suffocating moose hug as well.

Cas flounders under the unexpected assault, his arms flapping uselessly at his sides, until Sam says, “This is the part where you hug back,” and he does.

“It’s so good to finally meet you in person,” Sam bubbles when they’re once more at an acceptable social distance. “All of you! Come inside. I made some cookies.”

Dean winces, but can’t force out his usual banter (Cookies? Made? By Sam?? In an  _ oven _ ???). That pit in the bottom of his stomach is back with a vengeance as he half expects Cas to reject Sam’s offer and walk out then and there and be done with him.

He doesn’t. He follows Sam and Dean into the small apartment and the girls stick to his heels until they’re all crammed into Sam’s tiny living room. Dean almost doesn’t notice Sam’s assessing stare with how busy he is trying not to puke and checking out Sam’s new digs--not that there’s much to see. The place is surprisingly bare. That doesn’t stop him from dropping the keys to the Impala in the little dish on the table beside the door though. Home sweet home.

Then Sam and Cas trade a significant look and Dean is drawn back into the present situation, a.k.a. the last place he wants to be. He’s the only one who knows everyone. Is he supposed to make introductions? Clearly, Sam and Cas have kept in contact well enough, and Sam already knows Claire through their Skype study sessions and he’s heard enough about Krissy from Dean that he probably picked up on who the final member of their quartet is.

Claire takes advantage of the awkward hell they’ve fallen into and marches right up to Sam, hand sticking out. Sam’s lips quirk into a curious grin and he accepts the handshake.

“Hello Claire,” he intones with an insincere amount of gravity.

“I wanted to shake hands with the man who hung the moon is all,” Claire explains, drawing a barking laugh from Sam and just like that, the air is breathable again.

“Sorry, Dean can get a little…”

“Exorbitant,” Cas fills in, tone dead. Sam doesn’t seem to notice, grinning Cas’s way and agreeing while the nauseated feeling returns to Dean’s gut with a vengeance and he avoids looking at Cas and Cas seems to be doing the same to him. And what the hell does  _ exorbitant _ mean? Cas and his fucking five dollar words.

“Shut up,” Dean mutters, words falling flat despite how he tries to inject his usual playfulness. Sam notices (of course he notices) and gives him a strange look. Whatever tension Claire managed to bleed off is back and Dean’s got no clue what to do about it. He settles for a minuscule shake of his head and tries to telepathically plant the word ‘later’ into Sam’s brain. Not in front of everyone else, please.

The message must get through because Sam’s face crinkles into something like reluctant compliance before he wrangles them all beyond the doorway and into the living room where the pull-out couch is all made up, despite it only being four in the afternoon.

“I figured the girls can camp out here and you two can have the spare. It’s pretty cramped and all that’s in there is an air mattress, but I figured it’s better than the floor or the car.” Sam shrugs.

There’s an awkward pause as Dean misses his cue to say something, anything, but all he can think is,  _ Cas doesn’t want that _ .

“Thank you, Sam,” Cas fills the quiet. Dean can’t look at him and now Sam is squinting suspiciously between them while the girls stay uncharacteristically dead silent, wide-eyed and waiting for the inevitable fallout, for the other shoe to drop, to find out why the hell they’re here.

Sam takes a breath, even and measured like a scuba diver mid-step over the side of a boat in the middle of the ocean. “Is something-,”

“Shi-oot, I left my uh, phone in the car,” Dean invents wildly, already backing up towards the door.

“I think I’ll take a nap,” Cas murmurs from somewhere to Dean’s left. “Long drive.”

It’s a lie, but hell, who is Dean to call him out on it. Instead, he turns tail and flees, letting the door slam behind him.

Outside in the parking lot, he gulps in air like a man half-drowned and presses the heels of trembling hands into his eyes. He  _ feels _ like he’s drowning. No matter how much air he sucks in, it never reaches his lungs. Black spots dance in front of his eyes and the ocean roars in his ears despite being almost an hour’s drive west.

“Whoa, hey buddy!” Two pairs of strong hands grip his forearms and guide him to the ground until his ass hits concrete and he feels the rough scrape of red brick at his back. “You tweakin’?”

Dean only has a moment to jerkily shake his head before there’s a hand on the back of his skull shoving his head between his knees, citing something about hyperventilation.

It takes a few minutes, but finally his vision clears, the tide recedes, and when he sits up, eyes closed, and tips his head back against the wall while pulling in a deep slow breath, glorious air floods his lungs. He takes several long slow breaths before he opens his eyes to find himself bookended by… twins? If not, definitely related.

“You sure you’re not coming down off something?” the woman asks, her expression of concern a mirror image of the man on his left.

“We’re not gonna rat you out or anything,” the man assures him.

Dean shakes his head. “I’m not.” His voice sounds more like Cas’s than his, like he’s been gargling gravel. He clears his throat. “It was…” He shakes his head. What’s he gonna say? It’s only him being pathetic? Fuck that.

“Drop her.”

Dean turns to the man. “Excuse me.”

“It’s a relationship, am I right? Drop her ass, man,” he says without waiting for an answer. “If she’s got you like this, she’s not worth it.”

“Yes, he is,” Dean argues without thinking.

The twins (definitely twins, he decides) stop and seem to reevaluate him while his face flairs beat red. “What,” he barks. First the old lady at the grocery store and now this. He has  _ got _ to stop coming out to strangers. 

“Nothing, it’s just-,”

“Have you seen yourself?” the woman interrupts. “You look like you just stepped out of Country Living’s Young Republican Big Dumb Hick magazine.”

Dean scoffs and rolls his eyes, but recognizes she’s got a point. While it’s not cool to judge based on stereotypes, there’s a reason the stereotypes came into being more often than not and he certainly fits the bill in his red plaid flannel and his steel-toed boots..

“So what’s the deal?” the man presses like it’s any of his damn business. “He stepping out on you?”

“No!” Dean flinches back. Him and Cas have their issues right now, but he still has Dean’s explicit trust and he doesn’t think Cas would ever do anything like that. “We…” He sighs and scrubs a hand down his face. “I don’t even know.”

“Sounds like you need to talk to him. Have you tried that yet?” the woman asks.

Dean shoots her a look. “Yeah, and he shut down. He’s been acting weird for months: hot and cold, closed off and moody. I got sick of it and confronted him and he took off, gone all night and in the morning he wouldn’t say more than two words at a time and made us all come on this road trip and it’s like-,” Dean’s throat closes on the words like saying them aloud might make them come true.

“So, you didn’t talk to him,” the man says. Dean frowns. “‘Confronting’ him isn’t the same as talking it out, you gotta know that.”

“I guess,” Dean concedes mulishly. “I’m gonna have to get rid of the peanut gallery first, though.”

“Wow,” the man says.

“Rude,” says the woman.

“Not you.” Dean rolls his eyes. “Us and the girls are staying with my brother.”

“Kids?” the woman pulls a face.

“Worse. Teenagers,” Dean intones severely.

“Ooo,” they cringe in unison.

“You said your brother lives here? Which one is he?” the man asks.

“The bigger dumber hick straight out of Country Republican… whatever it was you said,” he says with a smirk towards the woman.

She grins back. “Third floor? Longish brown hair? Cute blonde girlfriend?”

“Girlfriend?” Dean squeaks. “That dick doesn’t tell me anything!” Dean sighs and tips his head back against the wall. “I guess I should get back up there. I’m supposed to be getting my phone out of the car.”

“Yeah, good luck, man. I hope he really is worth it.”

“He is.”

“Lucky,” the woman says wistfully.

Dean bites his lip and ducks his head to hide the stupid grin threatening to split his face.

“D’awwww,” the twins coo, mockingly.

“Shut up,” Dean says weakly. They get to their feet and ignore Dean’s protests as they haul him up between them, despite his body weight equaling the two of them combined. “Well thanks, ummm, what are your names?”

“Max.”

“Alicia.”

“I’m Dean. Uh, thanks for not letting me eat asphalt.”

“All in a day’s work for the Wonder Twins,” Max says, tone sardonic.

Alicia pulls a face. “Please stop calling us that. I don’t care if you’re being ironic.”

Max turns a dull look onto Dean who can only shrug, knowing if it was him, he’d be on Alicia’s side.

“I’ll probably see you guys around. I think we’re here for the week.”

The twins wave their goodbyes and wander off into the parking lot, arguing lightly over something Dean can’t be bothered enough to eavesdrop on as he realizes he’s going to have to buzz Sam to let him back it. Fuck it all.

He punches the button for Sam’s unit and doesn’t have to wait for more than a second before Sam’s voice comes filtering out of the crappy speaker. “I’m not letting you in until you tell me what’s going on.”

“Fucking hell, Sam!” Dean snaps, but apparently, Sam isn’t done.

“You left your keys on the table so don’t think you can just drive off.”

The following string of expletives to leave Dean’s mouth is much longer than the first. He mashes his thumb to the speaker and says, “Dammit Sam, just let me in.”

“Tell me what’s going on with you and Cas first,” Sam demands without missing a beat. His voice has that mulish quality that Dean recognizes from growing up. It’s the same tone that preceded Sam running away when he was twelve and again when he was 15 and when he packed up for Stanford, and basically every moral disagreement he had with dad ever. He knows Sam isn’t going to budge an inch. That doesn’t stop him front trying though. It’s that Winchester stubborn streak.

“Oh c’mon, Sam. Stop being an ass,” he snaps.

“I just wanna know what’s going on. You guys are perfect for each other so I won’t let you two screw it up over something stupid. Just tell me.”

“You don’t know anything about us.”

“ _ Bullshit _ .”

Damn it, but Sam’s right. It’s complete bullshit. Sam’s been there pushing them back on track since their first fight all those months ago. Since then he’s explained away misunderstandings and been a sounding board and soothed stupid anxieties on both ends. Hell, this relationship probably never would’ve made it off the ground without Sam. How pathetic is that? Maybe that’s why Cas is trying to let Dean down easy. Because, not only is Dean a high school drop out, totally incapable of living like a normal person, he apparently needs his baby brother to mitigate his relationships for him as well.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice crackles through the speaker, a note of uncertainty threading through it. Dean sighs and leans his shoulder into the concrete doorway and hits the speaker button.

He licks his lips and admits in a wrenched whisper, “I think he’s leaving me.”


	18. Chapter Eighteen

“I think he’s leaving me.”

He hasn’t been able to fully think it, let alone say it aloud until now, but it’s impossible to ignore all the signs point to  _ yes _ . Cas is done putting up with Dean’s shit and Dean can’t find it in him to fault him for it. If he asks Dean to go, or in this case stay, he will.

They’ve been off for weeks. The fight the other night was just the breaking point. Cas never came to bed. Instead, he packed their bags and allowed him one final day to say goodbye before he delivered him to Sam. Why do that if not to leave Dean here? Here he can let him down easy and avoid any violence by making sure someone is around that can hold Dean back. It makes him feel like absolute shit that Cas could ever think Dean would hurt him, but there it is.

Has he been too clingy? Did Cas realize he doesn’t need a second income to raise Claire? Is Dean only appealing when coupled with the adventure of the open road? Is Dean going to end up a footnote to Cas’s crazy mid-life crisis that he eventually outgrew--nothing but a fond memory.

It takes a long moment for Dean to realizes the buzzing isn’t in his head--it’s the door letting him know Sam unlocked it.

Numb, he opens the door and treks up the stairs to the third floor. Sam’s waiting for him outside his door again, his arms crossed over his chest and a frown marring his face. “Why would you say that?” he demands.

Dean lifts his hands, palms skyward. “Cuz it’s the truth?”

“It’s  _ not _ ,” Sam snaps, bordering on the petulance of a kid finding out his parents are getting a divorce and thinking he can fix everything through sheer willpower. Dean has to fight back a smile at the thought. It’s really not funny.

“You’re in love with him.” Sam’s words are delivered with all the force and forewarning of a sucker punch. Dean no longer feels like laughing. “And he loves you, too. I know it.”

“Sam, don’t.”

“You deserve good things. You deserve to be happy and Cas makes you happy. I’m not letting you do this, Dean.”

“You think this is me?” Dean demands, outraged. “It’s  _ him _ .”

Sam levels a calculating stare at him and says, “Then I guess I should talk to him.” Spinning on his heel, Sam throws open the door to his apartment and stalks inside, leaving Dean to scramble after him. “Dammit, Sam stop.”

Sam ignores him and pounds his fist against the closed door of the spare room.

“Cas, stop hiding and get out here!”

“Sam-,”

“What’s going on?” Claire asks from the couch, one earbud held loosely between her fingers. Behind her in the armchair sits Krissy, wide-eyed and visibly nauseated. With an unpleasant turn, Dean remembers that she’s already gone through one messy divorce.

“Nothing,” Dean says quickly as the door opens and Cas appears looking rumpled and exhausted. It’s suddenly hard to breathe.

“Sam, what is-,”

“Dean’s in love with you,” Sam blurts over Cas. Dean’s mouth pops open and an unbidden horrified croak crawls out of his throat. “And you’re in love with him. It’s true, isn’t it? Tell the truth.”

Dean’s eyes flick over to Cas’s impassive face just as Cas moves his gaze from Dean to stare Sam in the eye, carefully avoiding eye contact with Dean.

“I can’t speak for Dean-,”

“But you love him, right? Like,  _ in-love. _ ”

“I- yes,” Cas confesses and drops his gaze to Sam’s socked feet. Dean's mouth is still hanging open and his heart is silent in his throat.

“And Dean,” Sam rounds on him, mouth flat in a stubborn line while his eyes shine with premature victory. All Dean can do is silently plead for mercy. “Dean loves you, too. Right, Dean?”

He can feel Cas’s eyes laser-focused on his face, but he can’t force any sound out from between his lips. He manages a jerky half-shrug, half-nod and then watches Sam’s eyes narrow in displeasure.  _ Oh fuck _ .

“Did you know Dean was in love once? Before you, I mean,” Sam says to Cas, ignoring Dean entirely. Despite Sam’s inattention, he can feel the eyes of the rest of the room on him.

“Sam, stop,” Dean begs. His face is so hot he’s starting to sweat.

“He was 17 and it was nothing close to how he is with you. I can tell that much without even having to live with him this time.”

“Speaking as someone who does have to live with them, I can confirm they are like, Disney princess levels of in love,” Claire chirps from her spot on the couch.

“Seconded,” Krissy, the traitor, chimes in.

Dean glares at them both.

“What was their name?”

The self-righteous breath swoops soundlessly from Dean’s lungs at Cas’s soft question. He looks up and their eyes connect. He can’t tell what Cas is thinking. He doesn’t look angry or upset. Kind of… penseive maybe.

“Cassie,” Dean says, throat tight. “Her name was Cassie. Guess I have a type, huh?” He winces at the nervous chuckle that escapes.

“I’ll say.” Claire snorts obnoxiously.

“Do you miss her?” Cas asks.

“I-,” Dean’s gaze traces the curve of Cas’s jaw, the tiny mole on his cheek, the way his hair sticks up no matter how he tries to smooth it. “No,” he finds himself saying and meaning it. “I don’t.”

Cas doesn’t ask anything further, only searches Dean’s eyes for… what? Dean couldn’t say.

Sam clears his throat pointedly and Dean tears his eyes away from Cas to glare. This whole stupid thing is all Sam’s fault anyway.

“Me and the girls are gonna go bowling--,”

“ _ Bowling _ ?” Claire whines, throwing Sam for a loop.

“Uh, mini golfing?” he pitches.

“Can we get ice cream after?” Krissy asks with interest while Claire scrunches her nose in contemplation.

“Done.” He turns back to Dean. “While we’re gone, you two,” he pokes a finger at Dean, “are going to work through your shit and be dressed and behaving like civilized people by the time we get back. No excuses.”

Sam doesn’t give them time to argue as he goes to slip on his shoes, muttering, “What kind of kid doesn’t like bowling?” as he passes Dean.

“Right?” Dean hisses back.

Krissy and Claire pass between them, Krissy making a sympathetic face while Claire stage whispers, “I think he just ordered you to fuck and make up.”

“Jesus, Claire!”

“Claire Marie!”

Claire cackles and her and Krissy hightail it out the front door on Sam’s heels, giggling. Just before the door closes, Sam pokes his head back in and says, “Not on the table.”

“For fuck’s sake-,”

“I mean it. I remember the summer of ‘96. Stay  _ off _ my table.”

Dean flips him off, but the door clicks shut and his asshole brother is gone without getting the chance to see it.

The apartment is silent, like Sam and the girls sucked all the sound from the room as they left. He can feel Cas watching him, waiting for him to make the first move, but hell if Dean knows what to do. His plan of action only spanned as far as miserably watching Cas pull away and trying not to be surprised in the least. Dean’s the dead weight in their relationship, no question. He doesn’t have any skills to get a decent job, he can’t help Claire or Krissy through their respective emotional trauma, he’s not even good at making Cas happy and that’s supposed to be the easiest of all.

They were happy once, right? When they were on the road, just the two of them? Was Cas happy back then or was it only Dean? He can’t remember. Even if he could, would he be able to tell? Or would his own happiness overshadow Cas’s discontent and warp the integrity of the memory?

“Dean.”

Cas’s voice draws him out of his head and he realizes he’s standing with his fists clenched and his eyes on the floor. Carefully, he flexes his fingers, but he can’t quite bring himself to look Cas in the eye. What if-

“Dean,” Cas repeats, softer.

With great effort, Dean lifts his head and brings his gaze up to meet Cas’s steady blue stare. He’s frowning with his head tipped to the side in the way that means he’s giving something a great deal of thought. It tugs something inside Dean and that’s the only explanation he has for the next words that come out of his mouth.

“My mom was the last person I said it to,” he blurts with all the grace of a drunken rhino. “I haven’t- Not even to Sam. So you should know I-,”

“It’s alright, Dean.” He means it, Dean can tell. “You don’t have to.” His face is soft and understanding and compassionate and he’s giving Dean the out. All he has to do is take it.

Dean lets out a shaky breath and flexes his fingers. His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth.

“I love you.”

Cas freezes, blue eyes wide and staring into Dean’s with astonishment. A cold sweat breaks out over the back of Dean’s neck.

“I love you,” he croaks a second time, breaths coming short.

The astonishment is muddled with confusion and then concern as Dean continues to fight to reign in the senseless panic. “Dean, it’s alright.” Cas steps forward and smoothes his hands down Dean’s stubbled cheeks. “It’s alright.” He drops his hands to Dean’s tense shoulders and tenderly pulls him against his chest, wrapping his arms around Dean’s back and holding him close. “I’m here. I love you, too.”

Dean buries his nose into Cas’s shoulder and breathes in the familiar scent of their communal clothing detergent, shared deodorant, and the pre-rain-esque smell that is unique to Cas. He clutches the back of Cas’s t-shirt, old faded blue with pit stains, and wills himself not to fall apart. Cas is right. He’s here. Everything’s okay. The apartment isn’t going to spontaneously combust and trap Cas in a slow agonizing death because Dean said three stupid words. He’s here. Everything’s okay.

Cas’s hand strokes down from the top of Dean’s head to the back of his neck and then over again as Cas shushes him. Dean closes his eyes and immerses himself in everything he’s been missing these past months. God, he’s missed him.

Eventually, Cas pulls back without breaking their embrace and presses a kiss to Dean’s forehead. Dean’s eyes flutter closed. He basks in it as Cas leans his forehead where he planted the kiss. “Are you okay?”

Dean nods wordlessly and Cas takes that as his cue to move them to the pullout sofa. They sit crushed together on one end, legs kicked out and intertwined in front of them. Only then does Dean ask, “Are you?”

Cas’s answer is long enough coming that Dean can guess the answer without having to hear him actually speak the words with his voice and form them with his lips.

“Why not?” Dean asks, trying not to whine. “I thought we were like, in love and stuff.”

Cas sighs. “That’s not enough.”

Dean goes cold. He knew it. He fucking-

Cas’s hands, warm and gentle, caress his face. “Stop doing that. When are you going to realize I am never going to be the one to break things off between us? I love you, Dean.”

Dean’s head is spinning. Hot and cold.

“You just said that’s not enough. What am I supposed to-?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Cas interrupts, infuriatingly calm. “I only meant our love for each other won’t inherently make me happy.”

“So you’re not happy.”

Dean looks at him, too close for comfort and farther away than he wants at the same time. Cas looks conflicted, but he takes a deep breath and says, “No. I’m not.”

Dean's throat feels tight and his eyes hot. He turns away, mind racing to find a way for two plus two to equal anything other than four. It’s hard to think and the boulder on his chest is making it near impossible to draw a breath. He slowly draws his leg out from between Cas’s. “Then, I guess we should-,”

“Stop being melodramatic,” Cas snaps, dropping a hand to Dean’s leg and stopping its retreat cold. “Relationships take work. If everyone quit at the first sign of discontentment the world would be a sad lonely place.”

Dean breaks. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, Cas!”

“ _ Neither do I! _ ”

Dean shuts his mouth with a clack as Cas turns away, running a hand through his hair and making it stand on end. Cas huffs and turns his body, careful to keep their legs entangled until he’s leaning his back against the armrest and they’re facing each other.

“ _ That’s why _ -” He stops and takes a breath before starting again, composed once more. “That’s why I came to Sam for help and he seems to think the best thing to do is to lay it all out there and see where things fall. So I need you to talk to me and I need to talk to you. If we’re going to be lost in the dark, I’d prefer it to be together. I feel-,” His voice cracks and Dean’s heart along with it. “I’m tired of feeling alone.”

Dean shakes his head, angling his body away. Everything is muddled and confused. How did they get from arguing about going to a movie to  _ here _ ? He speaks slowly, “If being with me makes you feel unhappy and alone then I don’t know why we’re even trying.”

“ _ You’re not listening to me _ .” Cas grabs Dean by his shoulder and pulls him so they’re nose to nose. Dean leans back, but Cas matches him. “I’m unhappy because I feel alone. I feel alone because we aren’t communicating. All we have to do is talk, not just now, but consistently and we can fix this. Leaving me or breaking up with me would have the exact opposite effect, I assure you.”

“But how do you know?” Dean insists.

Cas sneers at the question. “Because I know you, Dean. In every sense of the word. I’ve never been happier than when I’m with you.”

Dean digs the heels of his hands into his forehead. “But you _just_ _said-_ ,”

“ _ I know what I said _ .” Cas closes his eyes and takes another calming breath. “Both statements can be true. I know we can do better than this. We only have to try. I feel like I’ve fallen through the cracks. You, Claire, and Krissy get along so well. Claire voluntarily shares things with you that she would never--,” Cas swallows. “I feel like an extraneous detail.”

“What?” Dean shakes his head. “I couldn’t do this without you. And Claire… You’re her dad.”

“In title, yes, but she doesn’t-,”

“She loves you.”

“Does she?” Cas fires back, holding his gaze while Dean works his jaw like a fish out of water. Of course she does. She hasn’t said so and she’s a total brat, especially to Cas, but Dean  _ knows _ she does. How could she not? It’s so easy.

Cas sighs and drops his stare.

“The point is, none of you need me. The girls have you for moral and emotional support and you have Sam. I can’t cook. Nothing ever needs to be cleaned because you do it during the day before I get home from my pointless job that I don’t need or even like. At this point, I serve no purpose beyond that of a bank account.”

“That’s not true,” Dean’s voice comes out a whispered accusation. How dare he have such a negative view of what he brings to their little ragtag family. “I-,” In his head, there’s nothing but white noise. He’s so angry. “I need you. You make me happy.”

Cas doesn’t even blink. “Do I, truly?”

“Uh, yeah?” Dean says, bewildered. Cas doesn’t believe him. Dean can tell by the look on his face. “It’s  _ true _ .” Quickly he wracks his brain. “Last week, when you fell asleep on the couch,” Dean prompts.

Cas frowns. “You complained that you missed the new Game of Thrones because I was hogging the living room and you couldn’t get me to wake up.”

Dean shakes his head. “I lied. I mean, I really did miss the episode, but it was because I got caught up watching you. I didn’t even try waking you up, not that it would have worked.” Dean pulls a face. “Then Krissy caught me.” That had been embarrassing.

“How could I make you happy when I was unconscious?”

“That’s the thing, Cas. You don’t have to do anything to make me happy. Just you being you and me getting to be with you is enough. And I’m sorry I haven’t been enough or paying enough attention to you or whatever. I don’t like that you’ve been unhappy.”

Cas stares at Dean before his expression collapses into despondency. “It’s not you.” 

Dean’s left eye twitches. “But you said-,”

“I’m aware of what I said,” Cas interrupts waspishly. Then he sighs and looks more tired than before. He runs a hand through his hair again and the few strands that made like they were trying to lay down, stand on end once more. “I-,” He purses his lips and huffs a frustrated breath out his nose. “It’s me, I think.”

Dean opens his mouth, protest hot on his tongue, but Cas lifts a hand and he looks so bummed about it that Dean can’t bring himself to override the unspoken request.

“I don’t fit anywhere. I’m invisible at work and unwanted at home so it must be something I’m doing wrong.”

“Bullshit.”

With a snap, Cas locks his gaze onto Dean’s. “Excuse me?”

Dean leans in. “I said  _ bullshit _ . It’s bullshit that you think you’re unwanted at home.” At the start, he was all Dean wanted. There’s more now, of course there is, but that foundation is still there and it’s still strong and without it, everything else falls apart.

“But Claire-,”

Ah ha. Herein lies the actual problem.

“Claire  _ loves you _ .” Cas shoots him an impatient, skeptical look so Dean continues. “She does. You might not see it because she’s a traumatized, moody teenager, but she does.”

“She likes you more,” Cas mutters with raw certainty at his lap.

Dean fails to smother his grin and Cas clenches his jaw.

“That’s not true,” Dean tries gently.

“It is,” Cas insists, stubbornly. “She goes to you for  _ everything _ . You do homework together, you have your TV shows, the Roadhouse-  _ Stop laughing _ .”

“Baby, listen to yourself. None of that crap matters.” Dean tries to take his hand, but Cas rips it away and clambers jerkily to his feet, standing off to the side of the pull-out sofa.

“It matters to me!” His hands are balled into tight fists and pink spots appear on his cheeks. Dean stops laughing. “I’m her father and I-,” his voice cracks, “I hardly even know her.”

Dean doesn’t say anything for a long minute as he regards Cas: the high color in his cheeks, the furious glare, and his eyes, bright, blue, and glistening.

“C’mere, Cas,” Dean coaxes quietly. Cas shakes his head, jaw clenched tight.

“I don’t need to be coddled,” he sniffs aggressively.

“It’s not coddling. It’s comforting and everyone needs it sometimes so get down here.”

Cas hesitates, but eventually, he does as he’s told and crawls back onto the couch, making a show of how little he wants to. Dean doesn’t waste a moment before drawing him in against his chest, spreading his legs to make room for him in front of him. Once Cas is settled, Dean wraps his arms and legs both around him and plants kiss after kiss along his brow until he finally starts to relax in his hold.

Then he simply holds him, resting one hand against his head as it rests on his chest and Cas sniffles, no doubt working up a wet spot on the front of Dean’s shirt.

Dean tries to speak several times but eventually decides to let the silence linger and hopes the warmth of their bodies melting together feels as therapeutic to Cas as it does to him. So instead he plants a final kiss on Cas’s hair before he settles his chin there and closes his eyes.

He doesn’t know how long they sit like that, but it’s long enough for Dean’s lower back to ache and for Cas’s breathing to even out to the point Dean’s not convinced he’s still awake. He knows one way to find out.

He takes a silent breath and presses his lips to the top of Cas’s head. “Love you,” he murmurs. It’s barely audible and muffled by thick dark hair, but apparently, it’s enough.

“I love you, too.”

Dean wonders if he can hear Dean’s heart trip all over itself in his chest or feel the temperature change as heat rushes to flood his cheeks. He decides it doesn’t matter, he wouldn’t change a thing, and carefully pulls Cas with him as he tips onto his side. Cas goes willingly, drawing up his feet until their legs are intertwined once more, curling up within Dean’s embrace like a cat.

A light sigh leaks into the air and it takes a moment for Dean to realize it came from Cas, not himself. He tightens his arms around him and nuzzles his nose into the soft hair at the back of his neck and lets his eyes fall shut.

This is it, he decides. This is the big defining moment of their relationship. Fifty years from now when people ask how they made it work all those years, Dean will tell them, “ _ We decided we wanted it. _ ” Even if it’s hard and takes heaps of effort and they aren’t any good at it, they want it and that is what’s going to make all the difference. When he looks back at this moment, it will be with the knowledge that it was a turning point. It was the moment they stopped doing it because it felt good and was easy and started doing it because doing anything else didn’t make sense-because they wanted it today, tomorrow, a year from now, a hundred years from now and into an eternity.

But right now, in this moment, he focuses on the present and the man in his arms.

“I love you,” he says again and his heart beats wildly until he hears Cas say it back.

“I love you too, Dean.”

He buries a dorky smile in Cas’s hair and takes a moment to be glad there are no witnesses.

“I’ll try harder,” he promises. “I know I’m not very good at any of this stuff.”

Cas huffs what might be an aborted laugh. “You’re better at it than I am. I’ve been making it up as I go along. At least you can cook.”

With a snort, Dean says, “Welcome to the club, buddy. You think I’m  _ not _ bullshitting my way through this? Cooking is about the only thing I  _ can _ do.”

“That’s not true. You’re so good with Claire. And Krissy for that matter. I don’t know how to relate to either of them.”

“That’s cuz you can’t, man. No one can relate to teenage girls except other teenage girls and our girls are even more difficult because they’ve both been through the shitter. The only reason I can read them is because I practically raised Sam and he was pretty much a teenage girl himself.”

“Still,” Cas insists. “That’s more than I have to work with. I feel like everything I say to Claire makes her angry and more distant.”

“She’s an angry kid. She’s the same with me-only difference is I give as good as I get and I don’t expect anything else from her. Besides, she only talks about the important stuff with you.”

Cas perks up against Dean’s chest. “She does?”

A wry smile pulls Dean’s lips. “Yeah, didn’t you notice? Sure we joke and talk about TV shows and whatever else, but when it comes to the big stuff, the stuff that matters, it’s you and her out on that swing set, am I right?”

“Oh.” Cas deflates. “No. We typically don’t speak much.”

“But she  _ goes _ . Nobody makes her. Either she sees you out there or she goes first knowing you’ll follow. It’s your bonding thing.”

“But she doesn’t talk to me.”

“She knows she can though. She knows you’re there for her and she knows you’ll listen when she needs you to. Sometimes it’s not about having someone to vent to, it’s knowing someone has your back. No matter what. It’s sitting on a swing in the cold and dark and knowing they’ll come sit with you even if they’ve had a shit day at work and they’re tired. Even if you don’t say a word. You’re important to her.”

Cas is silent for a long time, but Dean doesn’t push. They have all the time in the world to figure this shit out.

“Thank you,” he says eventually, quiet and sincere.

“Anytime, babe.” Dean rests his cheek on top of his head. “You know we’d be a mess without you, right?”

Cas shakes his head, his hair threading through and catching in Dean’s stubble. “If you hadn’t decided to help us I don’t know what would have happened to Claire and I.”

Dean lifts his head. “Okay, first of all, I didn’t decide shit. And second, you’d have been just fine. Hell, you might have been better off without me in the way and all my bullshit and making you feel second best.”

“That’s not true.” Cas picks up his head from Dean’s chest, but Dean gently presses him back down. The only reason this conversation has been going so well is because he doesn’t have to look Cas in the eye as he spills his guts out. Cas huffs, but allows Dean this small mercy and lays back down. “You matter, Dean. You’re an irreplicable member of this family. You and all of your bullshit.”

Bewilderingly, Dean’s throat swells shut and his eyes sting. He needs to crack a joke or brush it off, anything to ease the gravity of those words, but he can’t. Cas is waiting for a response, but he’s not sure what will come out of his mouth if he opens it.

Cas lifts his head again and this time, Dean lets him sit up without a fight until he’s hovering over him. Serious blue eyes, blazing in their sincerity, fill his vision. He has to close his eyes.

A hand presses against his hip, shifting him to his back, and a leg swings over his legs until a heavy weight settles over his thighs. His breath catches as a thumb caresses his cheek and then the other follows suit on the opposite.

“I love you,” Cas breathes and presses a feather-light kiss to the last place his thumb touched. Dean’s breath hitches.

“I love you,” Cas says again and repeats the action on the other cheek. “I love you,” he says, cradling Dean’s face between his hands. “You’re important.” He presses a kiss to Dean’s forehead. “I love you.” He kisses the bolt of his jaw.

“What are you doing?” Dean sounds breathless.

“I’m lavishing you with love,” Cas replies, matter-of-fact.

Heat rushes up Dean’s throat into his cheeks and he cracks an eye open to find Cas an inch away and examining what must be an impressive blush with satisfaction.

“But you’re the one who’s been unhappy. I should-,”

“It has come to my attention that we are both experiencing some insidious thoughts that are causing our relationship to suffer. So, I’m making a concentrated effort to ease them. You can do me next.”

Dean smirks. “Yeah? How would you like me to-?”

“I don’t want to have sex.”

Dean flinches back, his playful smirk vanishing like smoke. “Oh.”

Cas fixes him with a look, exasperated. “I enjoy sex with you a great deal, but right now I don’t feel like it and I don’t want to fall into our old habit of having sex instead of discussing our thoughts and emotions. We’re making progress.”

“Right.” Dean wracks his brain. “So uh, what do you want to do?” There goes his plan of fucking on the kitchen table.

“For now, I think I’m going to name your freckles.”

Dean stares, jaw loose. “You’re going to…  _ All of them? _ ”

Cas squints, peering at Dean’s face. “Yes, I believe so. I’ve already thought of a few. This one is Emmett.” Cas prodes Dean’s slack cheek with the tip of his index finger.

“Emmett?” Dean wrinkles his nose then goes cross-eyed as Cas leans in and kisses it.

“Mmmm,” Cas hums, as his eyes peruse his numerous options.

“At least give them cool names,” Dean whines.

“Persephone,” Cas touches a freckle above Dean’s lips.

“I  _ guess _ .” Dean rolls his eyes. “I was thinking more along the lines of-,”

“Eugene and Wallace.”

“Bruce Wayne or Ringo or-,”

“Niko, Rachel, Hughe.”

“ _ -Gene Simmons. _ ”

“That’s a nice name.” Cas muses. “This one is Gene.” He prods the spot just to the left of Dean’s left nostril. “And this one is Samandriel.”

“ _ Samandriel _ ?”

“That’s an angel.”

Dean quirks a smile. “You naming my freckles after angels, Cas?”

“Some.” Cas squints and leans close to press a kiss to Dean’s temple. “That one can be Batman.”

“Did you just kiss Batman?”

“I did,” Cas says gravely.

Dean laughs and relaxes back into the couch as Cas gets comfortable in his lap. “Can we name one after Dr. Sexy, too?”

“Of course.”

One resting in a small cluster beside his right eyebrow becomes Dr. Sexy while the others are named Monty, Alfred, Winnie, and Johnny Cash respectively.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Sam and the girls don’t get back until long after Dean’s legs go numb under Cas’s weight and they’re forced to go back to spooning through three episodes of the Great British Bakeoff. They’re arguing over the dubious quantifiable humor of naming one of Dean’s butt freckles Uranus when Sam opens the front door.

“It’s hilarious.”

“It’s tacky. Not to mention inaccurate. It’s not actually on your anus, it’s on your buttcheek.”

“You’re supposed to be done with the dirty,” Sam accuses from the doorway.

“I told you we should go to the movies,” Krissy complains, unseen behind him.

“We’re not being dirty!” Dean complains.

“Tell him Uranus is a terrible name for a freckle and shouldn’t be used solely because the freckle in question is located on his posterior.”

“Uhhh,” Sam says, wide-eyed and traumatized.

Claire shoulders past him and Krissy into the apartment proper. “This is our future now. We might as well get used to it.” To Dean, she says, “Uranus sucks.”

Dean makes a sound of offense while Cas smirks from his position as little spoon.

“You’re only saying that cuz he’s your dad.”

Claire grins. “How you gonna prove it?”

Krissy goes around Sam where he’s still frozen in the doorway. “No, they’re right. It’s overdone.”

“Traitors.”

Sam steps fully into the apartment and finally closes the door behind him. “This is worse than the table sex.”

“You get used to it,” Krissy says, taking a seat on the floor by Cas and Dean’s feet while Claire perches on the armrest beside her, squinting at the TV.

“Is this the episode with the-,” She gasps. “It is.” She slides off the armrest to sit cross-legged on the end behind Krissy and Dean and Cas move their feet to give her space.

“This one’s my favorite,” Cas and Claire say in unison. They don’t turn away from the TV, but Dean can see neither one is displeased with the similarity. He jabs Cas with a crooked finger in the ribs until Cas glares at him over his shoulder. Dean plants a quick kiss to his lips and grins. Cas returns a soft smile and then Sam clears his throat from behind them.

“I’m ordering pizza. Any requests?”

Dean groans, but it’s drowned out by Claire and Krissy launching into a heated debate where Claire insists upon her gross BBQ pizza while Krissy pushes her nasty veggies only agenda.

“Sorry I asked,” Sam mutters, cell phone held loosely in hand.

“Me too,” Dean grouses.

Cas chuckles. He alone seems to find their staunch pizza-pinions funny--probably because he’ll eat any of the three they end up ordering.

“We got veggie last time. It’s my turn!”

“But nobody else likes BBQ. At least Sam would appreciate-,” 

“Dad likes BBQ!”

“He doesn’t count!”

“Alright, alright,” Dean cuts in, struggling to disentangle himself from Cas enough to sit up. He finally manages it, ending up seated in the center of the bed while Cas sits at the end opposite the girls. “If you two are going to fight-,”

“ _ No pineapple! _ ” they shout.

Dean quirks an eyebrow. “Then figure it out without all the drama or I get my way.”

“We could just-,” Sam interjects. Dean shushes him as the girls ready their fists.

“ _ On _ three,” Krissy stipulates.

“Yeah, whatever. Just go.” Claire rolls her eyes.

Their fists smash down on their respective palms one, two, three times. Krissy chooses rock and Claire chooses-

“ _ Dammit! _ ”

“Language,” Cas scolds lightly.

Claire glares and flops back against the couch with her arms crossed over her chest in a full-on sulk.

“Seriously, guys,” Sam says, brow wrinkled, “there are five of us. I can get more than one kind of pizza.”

Claire nearly falls off the sofa bed. “BBQ!”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Yeah. I figured that. Dean, you still dining with the devil?”

“Yep.” He pops the ‘p’. He’s never understood why people get all up-in-arms over pineapple on pizza. It’s amazing.

“Gross. You know, Gordon Ramsay says-,”

“Gordon Ramsay can eat my entire ass.”

“Language,” Cas, Claire, and Krissy chorus.

Laughing, Sam starts to back out of the room, scrolling through his contacts list before he remembers. “Oh. Cas? Anything?”

“It makes no difference to me.”

“He likes the cheese sticks,” Dean supplies.

“Cheese sticks it is. I’ll be right back.”

Sam leaves the room to order and Dean snakes his arm around Cas’s shoulders. When Cas leans into him he presses a kiss to the side of his head. “You okay?” Dean murmurs, quiet enough to get lost under the shouts coming from the TV as something catches fire that should not.

“Better,” Cas answers, finding Dean’s free hand and twining their fingers. “I’m getting better.”

.

~*~

.

Twenty yards away, Cas and Claire are sharing a blanket, stretched out on the hot sand, presumably having a real heart-to-heart over sno cones while the ocean ravages the shore behind them.

“Y’all have heaps of issues, don’t you?” Krissy asks, her own sno cone hovering in front of purple stained lips.

Dean snorts, sucking ice cream from his thumb (like hell he’s going to stoop for ice and syrup when he can have a  _ real _ treat). “You don’t know the half of it.” He drops his arm around her shoulders and gives her a squeeze. “Lucky for you, you fit right in.”

The kiss he drops to the top of her head feels as natural as breathing; he doesn’t think twice about it until after he’s done it and there’s no going back. He goes still, waiting for things to get awkward or for Krissy to get mad or shrug him off and remind him that he’s not her dad. He knows. He knows he isn’t the parent to either of the girls, but try telling that to the dumb as fuck muscle in his chest that doesn’t know when to back off.

They  _ feel _ like family.

Krissy doesn’t say or do anything except lay her head against his shoulder and take another bite of her syrup drenched monstrosity. Dean breathes again and holds on a little tighter.

It’s surreal. Here he stands on a sunny, overcrowded beach in California wearing  _ board shorts _ of all things with family all around him. Sammy’s hopping around in the too-cold surf like a loon to impress his no-longer-secret girlfriend Jess, Cas and Claire are within sight working to repair their relationship, and Krissy is under his metaphorical wing: safe, well-fed, and well-loved.

Dean from a year ago wouldn’t believe it. He was bitter and angry--mad at the world but mostly himself and drowning in guilt and self-loathing. He was alone, through no fault but his own--a form of self-imposed exile.

It’s amazing how life can flip things around so quickly. He’s got it good, he thinks, as he watches Cas point out a big fluffy cloud slowly scooting across the sky overhead while Claire cackles. He gives Krissy another squeeze. He’s got it real good.

.

~*~

.

Dean slams the trunk shut, once again grateful for the ample space Baby provides. Somehow over the course of their two day stay their amount of possessions has doubled, to the point they couldn’t fit everything in the two backpacks and two duffels they brought with them. Hence, the trash bag full of stuff Dean just wedged into the trunk. He blames Sam. Also Jess, who as it turns out, is a total sweetheart and way out of Sam’s league. And apparently they’ve been dating for months and Sam didn’t say a damn thing. He says it’s because Dean’s been going through his own shit and he didn’t want to halt his progress in learning to love himself or some bullshit, but he recognized that glint in Sam’s eyes. This was payback, pure and simple.

He circles around the Impala to where Cas stands, leaning his butt against the driver door with his arms crossed over his chest. He wraps his arm around his waist and kisses his collarbone, exposed by the stretched out collar of his t-shirt.

“We’re going to need another car. Nothing fancy.”

Cas squints at him. “I’ve told you, I’m perfectly happy with public transpor-,”

“Not for you,” Dean interrupts. “We’ve got two teenagers who are going to want to learn how to drive and no way in hell are they going to learn on Baby.”

Cas tips his head thoughtfully. “Did you learn on a second vehicle?”

“Nope,” Dean grins proudly. “I’ve always known how to treat Baby right. She was my first and she’ll be my last. Sam, on the other hand,” Dean snickers, “he was terrible. Dad ended up picking up some crappy old Honda for him to drive. Took him two years before he was allowed into Baby’s driver’s seat.”

Cas hums, not nearly as tickled by the story as Dean.

“I still don’t understand the point of fucking on his table if he doesn’t know about the indiscretion.”

Dean laughs and checks to make sure Sam hasn’t come out of the building yet before cooing in Cas’s ear, “Because it was fun and it makes me happy. Didn’t you have fun?”

Fun is an understatement. Dean finally understands why everyone goes on and on about how great makeup sex is. It was hot and fast and almost unbearably intimate. The fact that Dean was also able to get back at Sam for the whole keeping Jess a secret thing (nevermind that Sam was only doing it to get back at Dean for keeping Cas a secret and not calling to let him know he was alive for four months), was a bonus.

“Directly going against your brother’s wishes makes you happy?”

“Baby, you’re an only child so I don’t expect you to understand, but yes. Yes, it does.”

Cas fixes Dean with a look that communicates his exact level of Unimpressed™ as the door to the apartment complex bursts open, spewing out Claire and Krissy while Sam and Jess trail meekly in their wake.

“I called dibs!” Krissy says, furiously.

“I was already going for it!” Claire shoots back, licking frosting off her thumb.

“You  _ know _ the maple ones are my favorite.”

“Duh,” Claire rolls her eyes. “Why do you think I had to move so fast?”

Krissy shoots her a nasty look as they reach the car and come to a stop beside Dean and Cas. “You’re such a child.”

“At least I don’t think I’m better than everyone else.”

“At least  _ I _ remember to flush.”

“That was one time! At least I don’t forget to put the cap back on the toothpaste  _ every morning. _ ”

“You’re so annoying.”

“Your face is annoying.”

It’s gonna be a long drive back to Kansas. “Can you please try to get along?” Dean asks with a hint of desperation. “While we’re all trapped in the car together at least?”

The girls look at him. “We are getting along,” Claire says while Krissy looks at him with her eyebrow raised in agreement.

Dean turns to Cas for backup only to find him serenely watching a bird glide across the rising sun, oblivious to Dean’s pain. Jess and Sam stand silently behind the girls, Jess with her hand over her mouth, holding back a laugh while Sam at least looks just as baffled as Dean feels.

“Sure, whatever.” Dean sighs, defeated. “Just say goodbye to Uncle Sam and get in the car, would you?”

Sam shoots him a bitch face, Claire sighs huffily, and Krissy rolls her eyes, but to his surprise, the girls both droll dutifully, “Goodbye, Uncle Sam.”

Sam blushes pink and, apparently overcome with emotion, pulls them into a bear hug before they can escape. Jess laughs out loud as the girls struggle, ultimately making no impact on Sam. Cas catches Dean’s eye and he realizes he must be wearing his emotions on his face if the fondly amused look Cas is giving him is any indication.

Dean gruffly clears his throat and steps over to Jess. “Hope you’re ready for that.” He jerks his thumb at where Sam is doing his damnedest to strangle the girls with love while they make exaggerated choking and gasping sounds.

Jess shrugs. “I have five sisters. This is nothing.”

“I meant Sam.”

Jess grins impishly. “So did I.”

Dean bursts out laughing and throws an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a one-armed hug. “I think you’re gonna be good for him.”

Dean’s phone rings in his pocket, which is fine because Sam has finally released the girls and is prying Dean away from his girlfriend babbling something about them not getting too chummy. Who the hell uses the word ‘chummy’ outside of Shark Week? Dean’s nerd-tastic brother, that’s who.

He checks his phone and holds back a groan as he hits ‘Answer’.

“Hey, Ellen.”

“Shouldn’t you be driving by now?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “We were in the middle of loading the car and saying our goodbyes before you interrupted.”

“I didn’t ask for your sass,” she snaps. Dean can hear Bobby say something in the background, but Ellen talks over him. “All I’m doing is checking to make sure you mean it when you say you’re coming home. Last time you hauled out of here to California I didn’t hear jack diddley from you for over two years. You can’t blame me for checking in.”

Dean winces. Yeah, okay, he deserved that.

“Is that Ellen?” Sam asks. “Tell her I say hi.”

“I would, but she’s too busy reaming my ass thinking I’m not coming back for another two years again.”

“We can’t be gone for two years,” Claire says. “I have to be back at school on Thursday.”

Cas and Dean turn to stare at her and Dean feels his eyes prick and _oh, fuck no,_ he’s not crying in front of the kids.

“Everybody in the car,” he orders, avoiding eye contact. Luckily, Cas doesn’t question the abrupt command and ushers the girls into the car, biding hasty goodbyes as they go.

“See you Thursday, Ellen,” Dean says and then disconnects the call before she can argue and stuffs his phone in his pocket.

“When did you become such a softie?” Sam asks with a teasing grin.

“Could say the same to you,” Dean fires back with a significant look at Sam’s arm around Jess’s shoulders. “Jess, I’m looking forward to many happy years of keeping this one in his place.”

“Ditto,” she says, patting Sam’s chest soothingly when he makes a sound of betrayal. “Are you going to be back for Christmas?”

Dean turns to Sam. “You’re not coming down to Bobby and Ellen’s?”

“Not this year,” Sam says, absently stroking his thumb over Jess’s shoulder.

“We’ll be here,” Dean decides. He’s missed enough Christmases and besides, in a month they’ll probably be due for another family road trip anyway.

.

~*~

.

The road is a dark stripe cutting through naked trees and scraggly underbrush. Baby’s tires fly down the asphalt, singing her freedom and it’s as familiar to Dean as Claire’s charcoal-stained fingers and the way the pages of Krissy’s latest comic book flutter in the breeze from the open window, and just as well loved. Then there’s Cas. It was never meant to be permanent, this love flourishing between them--but then again Dean’s never put much stock in “meant to be”. The open road used to be the only place he felt he truly belonged, but here in this small cobbled together family of misfits and rejects that he’s come to call his, he thinks he might have stumbled perhaps not into a slot in which he fits, but possibly into one created for him specifically. And that’s pretty fucking awesome.

So they drive and before long, they’re home.

.

**_fin._ **

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it folks! I really hope you liked it (if you made it this far I'm going to assume you did). I have an idea for a sequel, but there's nothing for sure in the works and I'm a slow writer.
> 
> Don't forget to go give lostloona some love on Tumblr!! Art is embedded in chapters 1 and 2 if you want to go refresh your memory! I'm also weasleychick32 on Tumblr if you want to stop by :)


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